The Librarian
by InMyJazzShoes
Summary: After taking a stand and leaving Harry and Ron, all Hermione Granger wants is a quiet life away from the Ministry, and so she applies to become the new Hogwarts librarian. The only problem is that Harry applied to work at Hogwarts as well...
1. Two New Appointments

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! :) I am back with another story for you all! I'm actually surprised by how quickly I'm back onto a new story, haha… but this idea has been nagging me for a while and I just got inspired to write. This is one of those Hermione-takes-a-stand fics. I've always loved these sort of fics. I hope you guys love these as well, especially those of you who take a very realistic stance on Harry and Hermione's relationship and have wondered what would happen if Hermione just left Ron and Harry after DH. I could imagine her actually taking a stand. After all, she's the coolest bitch on Earth, goddammit (if you know where that's from, I will love you forever).

**Rating: **Rated M for language, drinking, and possible mild lemony goodness.

**Info:** Post-DH, about six years after the fall of Voldemort. Canon compatible except for the epilogue, of course. At the beginning of this story, Hermione has left Ron and Harry and has not seen them for three years nor has she had any sort of contact with them.

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The Librarian

_Chapter One: Two New Appointments_

It was with an air of haste that Hermione Granger walked.

It was around midday and Hogsmeade was alive. But this was not her destination. She walked past the busy streets of the village, pulling her hood more tightly over her head in order to avoid hearing awkward questions. The _Daily Prophet _already made rumors that, admittedly, held some truth between their wild name calling and outlandish theories. She had long since read that bloody newspaper, but Hermione was almost certain that things had not changed.

And so she walked at an even quicker pace, wanting to stray from the populated area immediately. Facing strangers now would mean hearing whispers behind practiced hands calling her the "one who abandoned the Golden Trio".

The castle was not too far now….

Hermione continued walking. She was now past Hogsmeade, and she took the route that the carriages normally rode on to transport students. In fact, this path had been used the day before, since that had been the start of the new term. Hermione climbed up a particularly nasty hill and made her way further up the path.

If she were to be completely honest with herself, she had been expecting this. Hermione had had a steady job at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; however, she could no longer stand it. It was just a matter of time before she quit and found something more… quiet. Somewhere away from the worries that kept her up at night. And that was why Hermione was walking back to the one place where she'd always found solace: the library. A little bird told her that the school was in need of a new librarian.

Up ahead, finally, was the castle. She found some more energy at the sight of it, as though she'd had an extra cup of coffee that morning, and picked up her pace. This was where everything had all started, it was her home. Her other home, the one that she'd belonged to since birth, was a place where she was just coldly welcomed. Her parents, after her lifting the memory charm from them, were angry with her when she admitted to them that she'd modified their memories in order to run off with a boy she loved and another boy who would never love her back, and live in hiding within a tent around unidentifiable countryside for countless months. When she tried to explain that she _had _to help Harry, Carl and Jane Granger demanded to know why this boy they'd never really met had somehow been more important to her than them. She'd visit her parents once in a while but it wasn't the same. Even after she said that she'd left him and erased herself from his life, while they were a little more happy that she'd "come to her senses" they said it was "too late" and she "should have left him a long time ago". After all, through all of these adventures, "was he trying to kill you?"

It was all of his fault. All of this was his damn fault….

Luckily, classes must have been going on, and so despite the rare, nice weather outside, no students were out on the grounds. She did not want to face the majority of the student body here right now, especially not before she'd even officially gotten the job. It was best to remain hooded and anonymous while she still could. Hermione indignantly pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and marched the rest of the way to the castle doors.

She knocked three times, waited a few moments, and then heard a ruffled, familiar voice call out, "I'm comin'!"

The door opened just enough to reveal a slither of the face of Argus Filch, the caretaker. His eyes widened at the sight of the hooded figure before him. "Who are _you_? Reveal yourself!"

Hermione lowered her hood – keeping a stern expression on her face – which was enough of an answer for him.

"Oh, it's you," he mumbled, swinging the door open more so that she could squeeze through into the entrance hall. "The Headmistress told me you'd be here… yes… well, follow me," he said gruffly, and Hermione did as she was told.

It was nice, for once, to see someone and not hear about how she'd left the "Golden Trio"….

Various parts of the castle looked much newer than when she had been a student here. Shiny walls and newer, unfamiliar portraits were all in view as she and Filch walked. Much of the damage from the final battle against Voldemort had required an intensive repair project that had put classes on hold for nearly half a year after Voldemort was defeated. The last time she had stepped foot in this castle was on the one-year anniversary of the final battle, for a memorial service to remember all of the innocent lives lost… Fred, Tonks, Lupin… and so many others….

The man was limping next to her and his breathing was unsteady. "She's teaching now," Filch told her, when they reached Dumbledore's old office, "but she said you can wait in her office 'til she's done."

It seemed strange to refer to this place as McGonagall's office. He murmured the password into the gargoyle's ear, as though afraid that Hermione would remember it and somehow cause destruction that he'd have to clean up. Clearly the rule-breaking of her Hogwarts days was not forgotten, although it was Harry generally leading the rule-breaking….

Hermione shook him from her thoughts and politely said, "Thank you."

Filch looked at her as though he was going to say something, but he didn't, and he was soon scurrying off. There was a loud crash a few corridors behind her and then heard him yell, "Peeves!"

Some things just never changed.

Hermione almost laughed as she entered the office. She had not laughed in a while. When she walked in, the door closed behind her. Within the circular room, there were portraits of previous headmasters, Dumbledore inhabiting the newest one. He was sitting in his chair and looking at her with a look of polite curiosity on his face.

Some of the other portraits were a little more openly curious than he, and they began to walk into each other's portraits, muttering things she could not, and did not, want to hear.

"That's enough," Dumbledore told them.

One headmaster made an annoyed stiffing noise, and then went back into his own frame – labeled Phineas Nigellus – and sat down on his chair, looking slightly put off.

Hermione stood near the chair that was reserved for students that either gotten into enough trouble to land themselves a spot in this office, or received a great reward and deserved the Headmistress's attention. It seemed odd to sit here without being told, now that she was no longer a student. She was almost like an equal, as an adult, to McGonagall. That would certainly take some getting used to.

The bell rang, and she heard a sea of voices carrying past corridors and footsteps shaking the floor. There was no doubt that McGonagall would be here any moment now….

Hermione tried to lamely fix her robes and flatten out the wrinkles of her cloak. She wanted to look presentable. Hermione couldn't go back to her old job… not now….

Minutes later, the door to the office whipped open, and Minerva McGonagall stood before Hermione. There were streaks of gray in her black hair that was, as usual, tied into a tight bun at the back of her head, and several wrinkles lined her tired-looking eyes like dried riverbeds. She was getting up there in age.

"Ah, Miss Granger," she said, as though Hermione were a pleasant surprise. "Sorry it took me so long… Peeves made a mess right outside my classroom…" She straightened up and crossed the room to her seat. "Sit, please..." she added distractedly with a wave of her wrinkled hand.

Hermione sat down as McGonagall took her own seat. She wiped her glasses with the hem of her robes and then, with a flick of her wand, neatly sorted a small assortment of files. Then she eyed Hermione apprehensively. Hermione felt oddly distant from the older woman, as though it was more than just a few feet of empty space keeping them apart.

"Ever since Madam Pince retired at the end of the last school year," McGonagall said briskly, "no one has come forward to take the job. I was afraid that we wouldn't find a replacement…."

Hermione inclined her head. "I'm more than willing to take the job, Professor, as I told you in my letter," she said proudly.

"I was actually quite surprised when wrote to me about taking the job," McGonagall admitted with a frown. "I thought that you, a witch fully capable of much more, would have stuck with your career at the Ministry… the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I believe?"

"I've found that I'm looking for a more quiet life," Hermione said with another inclination of her head. "Perhaps one day, I will be able to go back if my qualifications are needed. But I can only stand so much time in the spotlight, you know…. And after all, the Ministry has never been kind to me or –" She paused before saying "Harry". "Well, they've just never… never been kind to me," she recovered lamely. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors?"

"Rumors? Oh, no, Miss Granger. I haven't read the _Prophet_ in years. A war could be breaking out and I wouldn't know of it," McGonagall said stiffly. She inhaled deeply and then continued onto a different matter. "Miss Granger, before I hire you, I want you to make sure that you're certain with this decision… you are phenomenal witch, and it would be a shame if your talents went to waste. I'm sure if I look hard enough, I can find someone else to take the job –"

"No, no, I'm sure," Hermione said in a high-pitched voice that was unlike her own. "I'd just like to get away from everything, that's all."

"Yes, of course," McGonagall said, nodding. "Well, there are a few things we'll need to go over…. Would you mind a cup of tea?"

"What? Oh – er, thanks, Professor," Hermione said as a tray holding two teacups appeared at the wave of McGonagall's wand. She grabbed the first cup and the professor took the second. Hermione took a sip and looked back up at McGonagall. "How has everything been here, at Hogwarts?"

It was just six years after the battle, yet McGonagall appeared to have aged so much. She sighed. "Oh, you know… just as usual," she said conversationally. "A little bland at times, really, without you three running amuck."

Hermione forced a laugh.

"There have been a few changes in the staff," McGonagall continued. "And I'm afraid we can't find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… I've sent out offers, of course, to everyone who I can think of."

Hermione gripped the handle of her teacup tightly. "You don't think – I mean, he's dead, he's –"

"Oh, that silly little curse that kept us from getting one Defense teacher for longer than a year?" McGonagall said dismissively. "That's all rubbish, of course. We had our previous professor for five years! He's left, though… gone to do some Auror work…. I've interviewed a few people for the job, of course, but none of them seem to know what they're talking about. I need the best of the best. In the meantime, we've had other staff members take over the classes and teach what they can, but it's really getting difficult, because we've all got other classes to teach at the same time…. And the Ministry's starting to catch on. Kingsley's promised that they won't get involved just yet, but we'll need to find someone as soon as we can."

"I could always take over a lesson or two, if everyone's schedules are full," she offered, shrugging. She briefly thought of the D.A. and then tore it from her mind. "I mean, mind you, I was never outstanding at Defense Against the Dark Arts – I only got an 'E' on my O.W.L.s – but for the next few days, you know, while you wait for someone to take over –"

"Thank you, Miss Granger," she said kindly. "I'll certainly let you know the moment we need a lesson covered. I do have high hopes, though, that one of these days I will get a reply back from the people I've made offers to…." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Well, I mustn't bother you with my worries… let's sign a few papers before my next lesson, shall we?"

. . . . .

"Get up, you useless lump."

Harry rolled over and groaned, trying to ignore whoever the hell was bothering to wake him up. He clasped his pillow over his head to cover his ears. Couldn't they leave him alone? He just wanted a few more minutes of sleep at least, although really, he could do with simply staying in bed all day and not having to move a muscle. He'd gotten only about a couple of hours of sleep...

"Harry!" Ron's voice exclaimed, louder this time. "You've got a letter… for Christ's sake, Harry, get up!"

There was a thick, sickening headache pounding in his head. The world around him twisted and twirled, and he was sure that his bed was hanging off the ceiling and Ron was up above him, on the floor. What the hell? His whole entire body ached. Harry winced at the pain. He felt Ron rip the pillow from his grasp.

"Ow," Harry complained dully, still face down in his bed. The headache still throbbed with pain. He covered his face in his hands and kept his eyes tightly shut against the world that was spinning too quickly for him.

"I'll read your letter, then," Ron said irritably, "seeing as you're probably unfit to even read your own name."

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't have any normal correspondents. Whoever wrote to him, it wasn't important, and he wanted them to leave him alone. There was a ripping of an envelope and an unfolding of a piece of parchment.

A moment's silence hung in the air, and then, "It's from McGonagall."

Harry rolled onto his back and slowly sat up. He lazily rubbed his eyes and ruffled his hair. The light in his room was far too bright, and Ron's voice was too loud. He squinted and made his hand into the shape of a visor over his eyes. His extreme lack of sleep was making him far soo sensitive to everything; he wanted to crawl back into fetal position and fall asleep until the next morning, or perhaps forever.

"From – who?" he asked in a groggy voice, trying to keep himself from falling over.

"Professor McGonagall," Ron repeated firmly. "She's offering you a job. Says she's offered it to a lot of people, though, so don't get your hopes up –"

"A what? What about hopes?" Harry had barely paid attention to what Ron was saying. It all sounded like Mermish, or something equally annoying.

"Get up," Ron instructed. He pulled Harry out of his bed by yanking on his arm. Harry unsteadily stood up and swung forward. "You've been drinking again. You smell like shit."

Harry's tired eyes widened and he ruffled his hair some more. "I just – I just had one drink!" he stammered in a weak voice.

The sickening feeling in his stomach was overwhelming, and he bent over and puked on the floor, his dinner out there for both of them to see. Harry coughed as Ron jumped back and made a disguised noise. Harry grabbed his own stomach and his eyes screwed up in pain. The back of his throat was now on fire and the smell of vomit mixed in the air which already heavily smelled of Firewhiskey.

"You're pathetic," Ron spat, waving his wand and cleaning up the mess. "Take a shower, get dressed, and then go down to Hogwarts. We'll get you a job there… come on…."

Harry barely understood what Ron was saying, but he did not find the energy to protest. He mindlessly stumbled into the bathroom and took a shower, removing the smell of alcohol from his skin. He felt disgusted with himself. Ron was right: he was pathetic. Harry did not constantly drink – it had not gotten to that point yet – but once in a while, perhaps once every few weeks, he'd drink himself into nothingness, which was right where he wanted to be. Nothingness meant not feeling a thing, being completely numb, waving all of his worries away….

Whenever he got wind of Harry drinking again, Ron was immediately there, forcing him out of bed and calling him names so that Harry would feel like shit and refrain from drinking for a while. Ron generally ended up waiting with him until he was sober again. At the time, Harry would get extremely annoyed, but he knew that Ron was just being this way because he actually gave a shit. Perhaps he was the last person in the world who was like this.

For the last minute of the shower, Harry turned the handle to make the nozzle spit out cold water. It was freezing as hell, but it woke him up. He shook his head and then walked out of the shower, nearly falling over in the process. He put a towel firmly around his waist and then walked out of the bathroom. His headache was slowly ebbing away, but it was still somewhat there, torturing him. He felt like shit; there was no other way to describe it. Harry instantly regretted having more glasses Firewhiskey than he intended to have…. He'd honestly only meant to have one glass, but memories found their way into his brain and he kept saying _just_ _one more drink, just one more drink_, until he was unconsciously picking up more bottles without even realizing it, and all he knew was that he didn't feel any pain anymore….

Ron threw a few articles of clothing at him. "Put these on the _right way_. Don't put your trousers on backwards like you did last time…"

Harry nodded wordlessly and dressed once Ron walked out of the room. He fell while trying to put his trousers on, but at least they were put on the right way.

"You alright?" Ron asked from outside the door, obviously coming by because he heard the noise.

"Yeah," Harry lied.

He coughed and pulled himself back up to his full height and looked closely at the tag on his shirt to make sure it was on the correct way. Harry initially put his left shoe on his right foot, and then fixed it when he started walking funny. He walked back into the bathroom to check his reflection.

God, he looked worse than he felt.

His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark stubble around his jaw line. But he knew that he shouldn't bother to shave; he'd probably get plenty of cuts with his horrible aim, which no doubt would look worse. Harry leaned over and grasped the sides of the sink so tightly that the scar _I must not tell lies _shone on the back of his hand. He looked back up at his reflection. He hated himself… he no longer wanted to be Harry. If this was the life he was living now and would be forced to live, then he did not want to be a part of it. There was a horrible feeling that coursed through his veins that made him loathe the person he was staring back at in the mirror.

And without thinking, he punched the mirror.

"What's going on?" Ron called out before he opened the door and saw Harry's bleeding knuckles and a broken mirror. "Harry, what the _hell _is your problem? _Reparo!_"

The mirror repaired itself and the few glass shards that stuck to his hand flew out to become part of the mirror once again. Harry didn't even feel any pain at all in his hand.

"Damn, Harry, I leave you alone for two minutes and this is what happens," Ron said angrily. "Here – give me your hand –"

Harry mutely did as he was told. Ron waved his wand and the cut closed and was smoothed over, and the bleeding stopped. He did not want to face Ron anymore… he felt stupid and ashamed of himself once again.

"This isn't you," Ron told him as they walked into the living room of Harry's flat. His voice was so loud that it caused a ringing to sound in Harry's ears. "You're not a drunk, Harry. This isn't like you…."

"I _know_ I'm not a drunk!" Harry yelled. He felt his headache worsen at the volume of his own voice. He sat down and put his face in his hands.

"I wrote a reply to McGonagall while you were getting dressed," Ron told him, ignoring Harry's yelling. "I told her that you'll be there soon. Come on, I'll take you there."

"Lemme go by – by myself," he mumbled. Harry clutched the side of his head as though it would somehow ease the pain of his headache. He felt his empty stomach twisting uncomfortably, but he did not feel hungry… he would probably vomit if he dared to eat anything.

"No, you're not able to," Ron said sternly, almost in a McGonagall-ish way. "I'll take you to Hogsmeade at least, you won't be able to Apparate there by yourself, not in the state you're in. For all we know you could end up in Antarctica or something…. Jesus, Harry, get up!" he added, for Harry was starting to close his eyes and lean back into his chair. "Get off your lazy arse and get this teaching job!"

Harry stood up, swaying slightly on the spot. Ron was a huge shadow looming over him, the outlines of his figure very blurred.

"Teaching? Who's teaching?"

"You're teaching," Ron said briskly. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, as a matter of fact. McGonagall says she knows you have the potential, which, after the D.A., who can blame her?"

Harry only absorbed half of this; most of Ron's words sounding very distant and too loud for him to bear. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? He was always good in those classes, but… _teaching _them?

"What d'you mean?" he mumbled. He winced and rubbed his temples.

"Christ, Harry," his friend said with a sigh. "We're going to get you a job. You've been unemployed for a month now."

Harry got up and rubbed his eyes. He didn't like to think about his quitting at the Ministry. The _Daily Prophet _had had a field day over that. Harry had always wanted to be an Auror, but when he got the job, it became apparent to him that it was not worth risking his neck for a few wannabe Dark wizards when he had a godson to look after. Voldemort was finished, and his most dangerous Death Eaters were as well.

His godson needed a father figure in his life… he needed what Harry never really had. Andromeda Tonks, the six-year-old boy's grandmother, looked after Teddy for the most part, and Harry took care of him on most weekends and would often stop by whenever he could. Thinking about Teddy made Harry even more ashamed of himself. Teddy didn't deserve him if Harry was to keep up with this….

"Sure, whatever… let's go."

"You need to sober up," Ron said solemnly as they walked out of the flat. "I wish I asked Mum about a remedy for a hangover… she usually fixes that stuff up for George…."

"She doesn't – she doesn't need to know about this," Harry said at once. "Look, I know I – I know I fucked up, okay? I just… I'll try not to do it again, alright?"

"You better not," Ron said. Then he looked up at his best friend. "You promise?"

Harry nodded and then winced; moving his head too much was painful. God, he needed another night's sleep to get rid of this. "Yeah, mate… I promise." They shook hands on it, although Ron looked disbelieving.

Godric's Hollow was before them soon enough, and they descended the stairs that led them to the sidewalk. The scent of fresh air filled his nose and awakened his senses a little bit. They were no longer cooped up in his flat that smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Grab my arm," Ron instructed, so that they could do Side-Along Apparition.

"I really don't need help, I'm fine –"

"You're barely aware of where you're going," Ron told him. "I bet you've forgotten the point of this trip. Honestly, I don't even know why we're going, McGonagall's gonna take one look at you and –"

"I'm going to teach!" Harry said indignantly.

Why the hell he was actually going with this, he had no idea… he supposed that it was easier to go along with whatever Ron said than to fight it. Ron was always there when Harry found himself waking up from a drunken stupor… Ron was the one who made him feel guilty and kept him away from Firewhiskey until Harry's worries and troubles would get the best of him and he'd reach for just _one bottle_… and then another… and then another… and then he wouldn't be able to stop, because the feeling of _not _feeling was too addicting, too unreal….

"Yes, well, let's go, then," Ron muttered. "Grab my arm. Might as well close your eyes, too. I don't want you to vomit on me like you did last time."

Harry sighed and grabbed Ron's arm. Within moments, he was being pulled through a miniscule tube through time and space, and every part of his body was protesting against the pressure, and a sickening feeling was developing at the pit of his stomach. And then his knees buckled as they reached a solid place once again, but the world was still spinning. Harry doubled over and felt Ron back away from him as he vomited onto the pavement.

"Come on," Ron said softly when Harry stood back up and coughed. "I'll walk you up to the castle…."

Harry didn't protest. He just walked beside his best friend, feeling like an asshole and hating himself. He wished Ron never repaired that stupid mirror in his bathroom. He would smash it again, he was sure of it. Harry didn't want to have to face his reflection. It was beyond him how Ron could even look him in the eye, like he was an equal, like he actually had his life together.

Ginny had left him. She'd become so stuck on wanting to join the Holyhead Harpies, and when Harry refused to travel with her, saying that he couldn't travel around because he had to help take care of and raise Teddy, she went off on her own, ending their relationship. She claimed that she wanted to further her career in Quidditch and she would not let a man stand in her way. Harry let her go… their relationship had been going downhill anyway, and sometimes, when he was left alone in his flat and holding a glass bottle in his hand, he wondered if she'd gone to the Holyhead Harpies just for an excuse to leave him. That thought often caused him to put that glass bottle to his lips. He now prevented himself from reading the _Prophet _too often, because mentions of the Holyhead Harpies would be shoved right in his face.

Ron had stayed neutral about it. He didn't blame Harry or Ginny. It was their matter and he did not get involved… he stayed in touch with Ginny and remained friends with Harry.

"I reckon it's the third day of school," Ron noted. "Wonder how they're getting on without a Defense teacher."

Harry shrugged. All of this seemed unreal. He doubted that he would actually get the job. Harry knew that he looked like shit, and he felt like shit, and McGonagall would probably be able to tell just how shitty his situation was. He felt embarrassed; he could already imagine the professor scolding him for daring to show up at Hogwarts with an obvious hangover.

"Why do we have to go _today_?" Harry complained, rubbing his eyes. "I could do with some more sleep."

"The job could be taken by tomorrow," Ron explained. "You need this… it's not a typical office job, you know, and you're not putting yourself in danger. And in a few years, if you're still here, you'll be able to see Teddy all the time!"

"That's another ten years, though."

"Five, Harry," Ron corrected.

Harry stared stupidly at his fingers and counted. "Oh. Right." He ruffled his hair.

They continued to walk. Ron had Apparated far enough from Hogsmeade so that they would avoid meeting the public. Harry didn't read what newspapers had to say about him, but Ron still kept his eye on the public's opinion, and he'd hinted that it wasn't favorable. Either way, Harry never did like attention.

But now, Hogsmeade was out of their line of vision, and the castle was coming up around the corner. Harry squinted. They were in a clearing now, and the sunlight beamed down right into his eyes. Since when had sunlight been so goddamn _bright_?

"Here we are," Ron announced unnecessarily when they reached the castle's doors. "It's early… I bet classes haven't started yet. You'll let me know the moment you're hired, right?"

"I won't get hired," Harry told him, still squinting even though Hogwarts was casting a huge shadow over where they stood. "Look at me…."

"Well, it's worth a try," Ron said. "McGonagall knows that you're damn good at Defense Against the Dark Arts… she'll give you a chance."

"Not likely," he mumbled.

"Oh shut it. Go on, then."

Ron nudged him forward, and Harry knocked on the door, wishing to be anywhere else but here….

"Potter, are you even paying attention to me?" McGonagall scolded minutes later in her office.

She leaned forward, snapped her fingers, and he sat up, blinking quickly and shaking his head.

"Wha – oh, sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled. He rubbed his eyes. There was no way he was getting this job. He was a wreck and it was quite obvious. He felt even more ashamed of himself from the way that McGonagall was looking at him.

"As I was saying," she continued harshly, "I will give you a chance. _One chance_, Potter, don't screw it up. The Ministry is breathing down my neck already these days." She took a deep breath. "You can start teaching tomorrow. Spend today planning your lessons. I will make arrangements to sort out a living quarters for you that will connect to your office."

"Thank you."

"I'm not done," she said. "Don't think I'm stupid, Potter. Whatever is going on in your life right now, you will not let it affect your teaching ability. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded and then winced at the pain of moving his head. "Righ'. I know. Sorry, Professor, I won't let anything get in the way."

"Good," McGonagall said shortly. She sighed. "I'm glad we've gotten all these staff issues out of the way… We've got you now, and I just hired the new librarian yesterday. But of course, you already know who she is."

"What? Who?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?" Harry stammered. His heart was racing… what was going on? He suddenly felt very aware of what was going on around him.

"I thought…" she began, but her voice trailed away and she started over again, her expression full of confusion. "I thought that you would have known. The new librarian is Hermione Granger."


	2. The First Lesson

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! :) Thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites! I certainly wasn't expecting that many for just one chapter! And for that, I am updating a day earlier than I had planned to. Several of you were confused about why I'm making Ron a somewhat Mature!Ron, and I'd like to address this, so here we go: Is Ron arrogant? Yes. Is he normally very immature? Yes. Does this mean that all H/Hr fanfic writers should shamelessly bash him and not take his immaturity as an opportunity for character development? No. When Ron is not needed in a fic, then he is shunned to the side, and I've done that in some of my own fics in the past because he was not important to the plot – but in _this _story, Ron is a part of it all because after all, Hermione left Harry _and Ron_. I will not do what many other people do and just throw him off to the side. He is involved in the story. And let's be realistic here – he did have feelings for Hermione, no matter how many times he put her down and disrespected her, and how messed up he was to think he deserved her. He was a kid put into an adult situation by being Harry Potter's best friend. I want to be mature and painfully realistic about the situation to give this story depth, and I hope that you guys can appreciate it and maybe realize that not all H/Hr fics have to push Ron to the side. Ron is human, and I think we forget that sometimes. He will still be one of my least favorite characters in the series, he will _never _be worthy of Hermione, and I will not treat him like some sort of God in this story, but hopefully you guys will see why he matured, especially in this chapter. As a learning writer, I will try to develop every character I can.

That said, please enjoy the chapter, I hope it answers some questions :)

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The Librarian

_Chapter Two: The First Lesson_

Hermione sat up from her bed, awakening from her nightmare, gasping for air. Her dreams were drowned in memories of her and Harry before she'd left. Harry's stupid moments of tactlessness and using her were really getting to her and it was difficult enough to fight those thoughts off when she was awake, but to have to face them in her _dreams _as well? To see him practically orgasming over the thought of his precious fan girl Ginny, and begging Hermione to almost fill out all of his Auror reports _for _him, was hard enough to experience the first hundred times. But Hermione always kept her mouth shut about Ginny; she was used to that, used to keeping her tongue because she knew that she wouldn't like it if Harry criticized _her _boyfriend… as if she'd ever want anyone besides him….

Since Ginny got the boy of her dreams, there was not much for Hermione and Ginny to talk about… there was no more boy talk, no more giggling in the room they'd shared at the Burrow over the summers. Ginny, like Harry, was treating Hermione as though she were disposable. There was no more guy advice, no more of Ginny's fan girl squeals. She'd gotten what she wanted all along. Harry was probably still with her. Heck, maybe they got married and had a kid already: and that kid was bound to be perfect, with gorgeous, athletic, completely-unlike-Hermione and not-a-know-it-all Ginny for a mother and… and Harry, who was probably even more handsome by now, as the father. Maybe the kid would even have his eyes…. Harry would make a good father, Hermione thought, he'd make sure that any children of his would get the childhood he never had. She remembered how great he was with Teddy.

Hermione got up and prepared for the day, trying to shake the morning's thoughts from her mind. The idea of beginning her first real day of being the new librarian was liberating her and it kept her going. This was the first day of her new life….

. . .

By the end of the first real day of her job – the third day of the term – the dream she'd had the night before had been forgotten and Hermione loved her job already.

She was dorky, she knew, as her classmates in her school always reminded her. Her ridicules for being such a bookworm had been endless. But Hermione could never stop loving the library.

She had thought that, given the _Daily Prophet_'s knack for giving her a horrible reputation, the students would hate her, but in fact, many of them appreciated her. One student had even told her that she avoided the library because of Madam Pince, but now that there was a normal librarian, she'd visit more often.

A few students – a gaggling group of first years – were simply star struck by her presence, and she heard whispers of people daring each other to ask for her autograph.

However there were a few students who didn't like her because she, as the _Prophet _liked to remind everyone, "abandoned the Golden trio". She got a few glares when they thought she wasn't looking, but none of them dared to actually speak up against her. Most of the people who didn't like her, according to what she'd overheard while organizing some books in the _Magical Sports _section, simply did not go to the library as a form of boycotting her. Hermione was quite alright with that.

However, the next day, two days after she'd been hired, Hermione could sense a change in the mood of the castle.

Students were talking amongst themselves much more than usual, and they kept their voices in low murmurs. Hermione even got a few looks shot at her in the process: they were looks of worry. One might've thought she had a disease, with the way people examined her face like she was going to suddenly convulse or have a seizure.

"Do you need help finding a book?" she politely asked a group of Hufflepuffs who were crouched in a corner.

One of them said a quick, "Er, no, thanks," and then the group disbanded.

Though this all struck her as odd, she decided to shrug it off and carry on throughout her day. After all, she was used to this, especially in her fourth year. There were speculations that she and Harry were together. She'd ignored it all because, quite frankly, she liked the idea of being thought of as Harry Potter's girlfriend.

After lunch, there was even more unusual activity, though. Hermione ate her food – food she'd bought at Hogsmeade on her way up to the castle that morning – behind her desk. She never remembered seeing Madam Pince at the staff table in the Great Hall and she thought that, perhaps, since the librarians were not teachers, they did not get to sit at that table. Or maybe Madam Pince was just too grumpy to eat with other people. Either way, she was fine eating alone. She'd been doing it for the past three years except for when she hesitantly went over to her parents' house for an awkward dinner and tea, or when she stopped by Andromeda's home.

No matter how much Hermione tried to ignore it, it seemed as though an incredible, mouth-watering piece of gossip was traveling throughout the school. Hermione was an adult, and so she normally didn't care about gossip, but it seemed that this particular buzz going on had something to do with her. Students were still acting oddly around her.

"Er, Miss Granger?" a student asked hesitantly, breaking Hermione from her thoughts.

Hermione immediately snapped out of her thoughts and saw the same girl who'd told her that she had been afraid of the library because of Madam Pince.

"Oh, hello," she said distractedly from behind her desk. She shook her head and exhaled. "Checking out a book?" Hermione smiled, hoping that this would make the girl think she was normal. Too often, Hermione got lost in her own thoughts.

The girl – who must have been a fifth year – nodded and handed over a book about Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Oh, have they found a new teacher yet?" she asked conversationally as she marked down the due date on the torn inside cover. The girl nodded. "What's your name?"

"Mary King."

Hermione nodded mutely and wrote her name down on her clipboard beside the date. Ron always said how ridiculous her handwriting was – "It's way too neat to be normal," he'd mock. Hermione gripped the quill in her hand more tightly.

"So, who's the teacher?" Hermione wrote down the date the book was taken out, trying to start friendly conversation.

"Er –" the girl stammered.

Hermione looked at her strangely. "What's wrong?" She looked at the cover of the book again. "Was this the wrong book?"

"No, that's the book I wanted." Her voice lowered to a whisper and she said, "Well… er… the new Defense teacher is r-really good. It's – it's Harry Potter."

Hermione dropped the book, which landed on her foot. She cursed under her breath. A few students that had heard her giggled, however the fifth year girl did not. In fact, she looked very far from giggling.

"Oops, sorry about that," Hermione said, picking up the book again and handing it to the girl. "Er, have – have a good morning. I mean, er, evening."

"Miss Granger, are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm quite alright," she lied. She gripped her desk tightly and felt blood rush to her head so quickly that she was afraid of passing out. All she could hear were the girl's words again: _It's Harry Potter_ _._

"You don't seem it… should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"No, no, that's fine, Miss Ring."

"King," the girl corrected.

"Yes, very well… off you go, Miss Ring."

Mary Ring – er, King – walked off, looking like she'd done something terribly wrong but also like she didn't know what had just happened.

Hermione was still clutching onto her desk for her dear life.

_He _was here? He was here, and a _teacher_, no less! How did that happen? Why, oh why, could she not have this one job without worrying about a thing? She felt like she was breaking her promise to herself just by being in the same building as him.

She clutched her heart, hoping that that would somehow reduce her alarmingly high heart rate. She felt strangely light-headed and faint. A few nearby students were now looking at her just as Miss Ring – God, King, whatever! – had.

Hermione caught her breath again and let go of the desk. Surely he didn't know she was here, right? After all, she had not been at the staff table in the Great Hall. Maybe his students were just as nervous to tell him about her presence as they were to tell her about him.

She collapsed into her chair and hid her face behind her hands. Hermione could hear her own shaky breaths against the palms of her hands. Part of her reason for getting a quiet job here was because of him, to _avoid _him, and now he was here and she was hopeless.

_No, _she told herself, _calm down_. He couldn't have known. That was not his fault. But many, _many _other things were his fault, and that was why she felt dread pulse through her veins instead of blood. Would she have to see him?

Or would Hermione continue to play that game again – the game she'd been playing for three years in order to save herself from being hurt anymore – and avoid him?

. . . . .

"She works there, too?"

Harry nodded. His headache had intensified and was now becoming unbearable, but this was less because of the alcohol getting out of his system and more due to the fact that Hermione worked at Hogwarts as well.

He was more tired than ever; he had intended to catch a quick nap after his talk with McGonagall, but it became clear that he would not be falling asleep for a while now, because too many thoughts were racing about his head.

"Yes. She's the librarian," he said lowly.

"Are you sure McGonagall said it was _her_?" Ron stammered as he aimlessly paced the room. His eyes were full of disbelief. "I mean, not for nothing, but you're not really in a right state –"

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry said irritably. He ruffled his hair and sighed. "I know her name when I hear it, trust me."

Both of them were avoiding saying Hermione's name aloud. It was too painful to say it. They'd dealt with enough suffering from her absence.

"Well…" Ron began, sitting across from Harry for a few seconds before standing up again. "Are you going to work there, then?"

"You're the one who demanded that I get a job!" Harry exclaimed. His eyes were widening to saucers. "You said I was being a lazy arse and I had to get a job! Don't start going back –"

"Yeah, well, things have changed now," he said firmly. "I didn't know that _she'd_ be there…. I mean, I suppose that you _could_ just ignore her, couldn't you? You'll have to… she'll go mental if she sees you. I wonder if she knows you're there…."

"I'll have to ignore her, won't I?" Harry said. He pulled his legs in and hugged his knees. He felt stupid for doing this, because it was so childish, but at this moment, he _felt _childish. "I mean, you know what happened the last time I tried to talk to her."

"Yeah," Ron said quietly, putting his hands in his pockets.

Both men were silent for a few moments, strained expressions dominating their faces. Harry buried his face into his knees and wondered what the hell he had just gotten himself into. He took the job as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that morning without even giving it much thought. Ron had forced him to get off his arse and get a job. But Ron hadn't known that Hermione was already hired as the new librarian there… if he had known, he wouldn't have forced Harry to go through with this.

For a moment, Harry had thought that perhaps Ron would have demanded that Harry quit immediately and just forget it. After all, Harry had seen enough of Ron's moments after Hermione left; he may have matured, but it didn't stop him from getting out of control once in a while. There were some times when Ron looked ready to burst, about to say what was really on his mind, but he'd refrained… most of the time. Perhaps he wanted to live vicariously through his best friend on the off-chance that Harry would bump into Hermione.

Because if Harry was torn by Hermione leaving, he could not imagine how Ron could have felt. Hermione had actually admitted, in her tantrum that included breaking up with Ron and shortly leaving them, that Harry had always treated her better than Ron could ever wish to treat her, and that if she were to return to any of them she'd always choose Harry. She'd also told him to mature and that "maybe then, you'd be worthy of a woman's attention". Hearing the recollection of this from a distraught Ron three years ago, Harry thought that his best friend would also leave him. But Ron never talked about Hermione from that point on – until now, of course.

It seemed that Ron had not mentioned some things, because there were clear gaps in the story, but whatever Hermione said to him, it was enough to keep him from completely blaming Harry for being more respectful than him towards Hermione.

Somehow that made Harry feel even worse… he'd always tried to reconcile with Ron, telling him that he was worse to Hermione than Ron at many times (although really, Harry knew he was straight out lying to him, but it was to make him feel better). However his best friend always ignored him, and when Harry got really insistent, he'd just walk away and not be seen for days. But Ron was always there for him, especially when Harry got himself into a drunken mess and needed someone to lean on.

Hermione's departure had somehow matured Ron, making him realize that he needed to grow up if he was to be worthy of anyone's attention.

Harry only knew too well what it was like for someone he loved – as more than a friend – to leave him for good. Ginny had left him to travel around the world to play on the Holyhead Harpies. She gave him a choice, and he made the right one, he knew, but it still didn't make him feel any better. Their relationship had been heading downhill anyway… they were bound to break up eventually, but he wished it would have been more… _traditional_? He would've preferred a civil way of breaking it off than his girlfriend running away from him not too long after his best friend left. "I can see that you've made your decision," Ginny had said to him. He tried to explain to her that she made her own decision also, and he couldn't leave Teddy, his godson needed a father figure in his life, but she'd already turned around and Disapparated.

The two women that meant the world to him had left. Ginny was stubborn and preferred flying than being with him. Hermione just couldn't stand him and his treatment of her.

He hated himself.

Harry knew, immediately, that he would avoid Hermione. It would kill him inside and eat at whatever was left within him, and every single day he'd want to run to the library just to _see _her, but he knew that, right now, he wouldn't. Harry would resist the urge to go up to her and try to reconcile their relationship. But God, he missed her.

Harry had grown up for the first eleven years of his life wanting friends, wanting people that he could care about, and that aching had killed him inside as he'd lie there in the cupboard under the stairs. But now that he'd had Hermione as a friend and he did care about her – more than she would ever realize – _this _sort of ache was something he wasn't even sure what to compare to. He was burning with a need to fix all of this, to have Hermione back.

He kept dreaming about her, but he was sure that the face he remembered was different from what she looked like now. Maybe she was even prettier… or had her deletion from his life made her just as stressful as he was, and made her face a reflection of that stress? Would she look like a wreck? Did she also wake up screaming from nightmares? Was she surrounded by people but still so alone? Did she also reach for Firewhiskey once in a while as a side effect of an ever-growing depression? God, he hoped that she was stronger than that, he hoped that she wasn't making the same mistake that he did… he could deal with having his own issues but to imagine Hermione just as depressed as him made his heart ache.

No, she wasn't like that at all, he decided: she'd made the decision to leave. _She _was happy with this.

The only thing Harry wanted more than Hermione herself was her safety and her happiness, in that order. Without him, Hermione was safe as far as he'd heard, and she was probably happy, wasn't she? He would have to live with it.

The need to become her friend again was burning at his insides, eating away at every particle of his body. He wanted Hermione again… he would kill just for them to be on civil speaking terms, even if they couldn't be just friends.

This was what Hermione wanted. She'd left them. She was done with them and their treatment towards her. She was done being the one left out. Hermione had cut off all ties to them… according to Andromeda, Hermione even stopped by to spend time with Teddy only when she knew that Harry wasn't going to be there.

"What if you do see her? Like, by accident?" Ron asked in a small voice, breaking the silence between them.

Hermione's departure had been difficult for Ron. Sometimes Harry wondered Ron was not the one reaching for glasses of Firewhiskey into ungodly hours of the night. Even Ron had admitted that a relationship between them would not work… their differences set them too far apart and they were constantly bickering. It didn't make Ron appear to feel any better about it, though.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, talking to his knees and avoiding Ron's gaze. "I guess I'll just have to walk away before she freaks out and hexes me like last time, right?"

He heard Ron cough. "Yeah… yeah, best to avoid her." There was a tiny pause that was somehow excruciating despite how short it was, as their fears were all being laid out between them… they always avoided talking about Hermione. Maybe they'd talk about books, but no, that was too closely related to her. Maybe they'd talk about the D.A., but no, she had been involved in the D.A…. It was better to just not talk about what was killing them both. "She doesn't want anything to do with us."

Harry couldn't speak; he just nodded as the truth rolled into his ears and tortured him. There were a few more moments of silence and then he managed to say, "I better go and, er, plan my lessons…" He no longer wanted to talk about Hermione.

"Right," Ron said shortly, running his fingers through his vivid red hair. "Right, I'll leave you to that, then…."

Ron nodded, more to himself than to his friend, and then left Harry's flat, his head hung and his eyes blinking quickly.

Harry didn't get much sleep that night. His hand had half-twitched towards his refrigerator, but he shook the intentions away and locked himself in his room so that he wouldn't stumble into the kitchen without any second thoughts. And besides, when he'd returned from his interview with McGonagall, he saw Ron Summoning Firewhiskey, destroying it, and telling him that his abundant possession of Firewhiskey in his flat was out of control and that he should be ashamed of himself. It was only until Harry told him that Hermione worked at Hogwarts that Ron calmed down. In fact, Ron became almost _too _calm. He was too relaxed, most likely very lost in his own thoughts.

His dreams were filled of Hermione, wearing a beautiful wedding dress and running away from him, laughing right in his face. He was always too far away from her…. She spoke in an oddly high-pitched, sinister voice, telling him that he and Ron always treated her like the third wheel, and that she was just a person that did homework and Auror reports for them. He tried to apologize and tell her that she meant so much more than that, but she kept running away from him….

Harry woke up with cold sweat collecting around his hairline. He wiped it away and rolled out of bed. He somehow felt worse than he had when he woke up the previous morning, despite now being completely sober. Harry got ready that morning with a sluggish sort of temperament. He took his lesson plans with him and tried to grasp some sense of reality as he left his apartment and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

The walk to Hogwarts felt unusually short. His nerves were getting to him as he approached the front door. Filch opened the door for him and snarled, but let him into the castle all the same. He then stalked off and Harry made his way into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to set up before breakfast. The office was completely empty. He did not plan on imposing his personality on the room just yet; after all, if he were to impose his personality here, there would be bottles of Firewhiskey littering the floor and pictures of Hermione on his desk, smiling up at him from a time when she did not hate his guts.

He went down to breakfast in the Great Hall with a sickening feeling in his stomach. Would Hermione be there? Or had she already heard of his appointment as the newest staff member, and decided to avoid him? Maybe she didn't know yet…. How would she react if and when she saw him?

Harry, getting strange looks from students who were late and rushing into the Hall, peaked around the corner of the doorway. A quick glance at the staff table told him that Hermione wasn't present. It probably was not routine for the librarians to be at the staff table, but he wanted to be sure just in case. He walked into the Great Hall and was already past two House tables before people really started staring at him, craning their necks and pulling themselves up a few inches by grabbing their neighbor's shoulders for leverage.

Harry, used to stares from his own days at this school, ignored the whispers and murmurs of people around him and made his way up to the staff table. Hagrid waved at him genially and said, "Harry! Professor McGonagall told me yeh'd be here!"

Relieved that there was a familiar, kind face here, Harry returned his wave and walked straight up to him. It was nice to be reminded that there was a friendly, familiar face here.

"Hey, Hagrid," he said. "How've you been?"

"Alright, alright…." Hagrid said airily. "I haven't heard from yeh in ages, Harry!"

"Yes, well… I've been trying to stay under the radar."

"How's Teddy?"

"Oh, he's fine," Harry said happily. The thought of his godson always brought a smile to his face. "You should stop by at Andromeda's for dinner."

Before Hagrid could reply, they heard a sharp, unnatural cough coming from somewhere down the staff table. Harry turned his head and saw McGonagall beckoning him over.

"Talk to you later, Hagrid," Harry said, and he walked down the next few seats – saying a quick "hello" to some of his previous teachers who were still there – and took the empty seat beside McGonagall.

"I need to address the school," she told him briskly before he even got comfortable in his chair.

Harry nodded, and McGonagall stood up and cleared her throat. She still had a way of silencing a room full of students without much effort, for the buzzing in the Great Hall had died down at once. It didn't stop their staring at Harry, however.

"As you can see," McGonagall announced, "we have a new professor. Professor Potter –" Harry tried to suppress a laugh; _Professor Potter? _That would take some getting used to, "—will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I hope that you'll all give him a warm welcome."

Students looked at each other excitedly, as though McGonagall had announced that Christmas had come early and they wouldn't have any homework assignments for the rest of the term. McGonagall sat down and began to eat her breakfast, and the students' talking immediately started up again, at an even louder volume this time. There was one universal tone of hunger possessing the student body: Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts.

"So, Potter," McGonagall said dismissively, turning to face him and taking his attention away from the students, "I can see that you haven't been talking to Miss Granger, or you wouldn't have been surprised when I told you yesterday that she'd been appointed as the new librarian. I don't want to know what happened and why you two are this way, but if this – whatever this is – will affect your job performance, it then becomes an issue of mine as well."

"It won't interfere with my performance, Professor," Harry told her at once. "Things have just been… complicated."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She really looked it. McGonagall had abandoned her meal and was now giving Harry her full attention. "I didn't know that you two were – I mean, if I had known that there was a rift between you two, I would have thought twice about admitting both of you to work here…. Not that you two aren't mature enough to handle this, but –"

"If anything, Professor, fire me," Harry said immediately. "Don't kick her out. Listen… none of this was Hermione's fault. She's a great person… _I'm_ the reason that we aren't talking. I don't want you to think poorly of her."

McGonagall pursed her lips and gave him a quizzical look, then shook her head and sighed. "I wouldn't think poorly of Miss Granger," she said. "And I certainly hope that I wouldn't have to fire one of you… I expect both of you to act maturely about the situation."

"We will."

A half an hour later, a few students began to stand up from their seats and make their way to their first classes of the day. Following their lead, Harry stood up, said his farewell to McGonagall and Hagrid, and walked to his classroom…. God, it felt strange referring to that place as _his _classroom. Never, in a million years, had he thought he'd be teaching here….

"Good morning," Harry said several minutes later in front of a full class of fifth years. He somehow had the skill of holding the class's attention in complete silence, although he doubted much of this had to do with _actual _skill. Their fascination with his presence seemed to be enough of an answer.

"Good morning, Professor," some of the students called back, a few amongst them giggling from calling him "Professor."

"No need for textbooks. Wands out," he ordered.

Just like in the D.A., it felt odd to see people obeying his orders. A few students who had taken out their books hastily put them away. Everyone scrambled for their wands. Eager looks were on everyone's faces.

"We won't be doing too much from the textbook, except for when we're going over what you'll need to know for your O.W.L.s, of course," Harry told them. "I generally find that practical lessons are much more helpful than any theory you'll read."

"Hear, hear!" someone called out.

Harry smiled. "Right, then…. Today we'll be practicing Disarming Charms –"

A girl's hand shot into the air, and he immediately thought of Hermione. Trying to push the thought from his mind, he looked at the girl and said, "Yes?"

"Er, Professor," the girl said quietly, "is it true that you used the Disarming Charm against – against You-Know-Who?"

People who had been looking at the girl now snapped their heads around to witness Harry's reply.

"Yes," he said. "It's certainly proved itself useful. It's gotten me out of a lot of tight spots… so it's important that you master this. You can certainly get an advantage from Disarming your opponent. It will buy you at least a few seconds of time, by which you might already have another spell up your sleeve."

Talking to a group of students didn't seem nearly as bad as he'd thought. In fact, it was extremely easy to tell them all about how they should defend themselves… it felt like he was back at the D.A., teaching his classmates about this very subject. His nerves were ebbing away.

"Now, as you know, the incantation is _Expelliarmus_," Harry said. "Repeat after me –"

"_Expelliarmus_," the class repeated in unison. A couple of girls in the back of the room were whispering behind their hands and blushing.

"Good," he said. "Now, split up into pairs and try Disarming each other. I'll be walking around to make sure you're doing it right… and that you're doing it at all."

A few people laughed. The class obeyed him and divided into groups of two. Wands went flying. Harry helped students who were waving their wands the wrong way or muttering the incantation incorrectly.

"—she's really nice, you know –" the girl who had asked Harry about the Disarming Charm was now telling her friend.

Harry was quite a distance away, so the girls were unaware of him listening in. Clearly whatever they were talking about was not related to the assignment.

"I don't know, Mary, she seems so – so _off_," the other girl, a fellow Gryffindor, said. "I mean, you know what – what she did! The _Prophet _still talks about it to this day –"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Carly!" the girl named Mary said indignantly. "The _Prophet _is rubbish."

"The _Prophet _always holds some truth, even _you _know that. I'm not going to the library, not after what she did! I can't believe that Hermione Granger had the nerve to –"

"Whatever you two are doing, it's not Disarming," Harry interjected, walking towards them now. A few nearby students were poking their friends and nodding in his direction. He felt his defensive side taking him over. "Ten points from Gryffindor. I don't want to hear about any disrespect aimed towards staff members while you're in my classroom. If you have a problem with Miss Granger, then please, by all means, go and tell her yourself."

The girl named Carly looked at him with widened eyes as her friend gave her an I-told-you-so look.

"S-Sorry, Professor," Carly said in a small voice. "It won't happen again…."

"Good," he said firmly.

His actions had caused a ripple of whispers throughout the class. Harry had never meant to be that strict on the first day, but he would not tolerate anyone talking about Hermione like that. _He _deserved the whispers and the rumors, not her.

When there were a few minutes left until the bell – some students were now using Shield Charms against the Disarming Charm, and Harry made a mental note to have them perfect that as well – Harry told them to take their seats. He gave them the assignment to practice the Disarming Charm, warning them that he'd know if they had practiced or not. The class was dismissed by the bell, whispering amongst each other. Several students called back over their shoulders, "See you, Professor Potter!" It seemed like some of them had gained respect for him from ridiculing Carly.

Harry sat down behind his desk once the classroom was emptied of students. He sighed and ruffled his papers around the top of his desk aimlessly, not giving a shit how messy of a pile it was becoming. Would he have to be reminded of Hermione for the rest of the day, too? It was painful enough to know that she was here, and to want to run up to her and ask for her forgiveness, but now he was being reminded of her in his own classes.

Surely he'd run into her one day? They couldn't be stuck in the same castle and not somehow bump into each other…. Harry was dying to see her. Ron's words were whirling about his head, warning him not to approach her for the sake of his own safety, but Harry yearned to see her again, even one little glimpse of her. She'd become a figment of his imagination, just one huge, unattainable memory, and to see her would give him hope that they could work through this. Hermione had made it clear that she never wanted to see him again, but while they were in this castle, they were bound to meet up again… weren't they?


	3. Luna Lovegood

**Author's Note: **Hey guys. This is out later than I had intended. I was planning on perhaps making the updating schedule twice a week, but it will be, as of right now, just once a week. My great-grandmother passed away, so lately I have not been too inspired to write. I have enough pre-written chapters to last another month or so, and hopefully by then I will be back on track and you guys will keep getting weekly updates. And thank you to dirtylaundry022 for looking over this chapter for me :)

* * *

The Librarian

_Chapter Three: Luna Lovegood_

"Professor, I'm so sorry to bother you, but –"

"No, no, don't worry," McGonagall told Hermione, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Thank you," Hermione said breathlessly. "I – and this isn't a criticism, but – I heard that you… that you appointed a new teacher?"

She couldn't bring herself to say his name aloud.

McGonagall nodded. "Ah, yes, I should have seen this coming now…. Have a cup of tea, won't you?"

"Er, right. Thanks." Hermione sipped the offered tea unsteadily. Her hands were shaking.

"Potter's told me about your situation. I didn't know of this – you see, I haven't read the _Prophet _in years, not after all the shenanigans that paper has pulled before. But as I told him, I assume you two are mature enough to be on civil terms while you're colleagues."

"He didn't give any details, did he?" Hermione asked nervously over the top of her cup. Small swirls of steam were swirling towards her face, giving her an even more flushed look.

"No, and I do not wish to know the details. I'm far too old to get involved with matters like these," McGonagall assured her. "However, Miss Granger, I must say that given what he's said about you, I'm surprised that you two aren't speaking."

Hermione froze. "W-What?"

"He told me to not think poorly of you… not that I would ever think poorly of you in the first place, you are one of the brightest students to walk through this school's doors," she said casually, shrugging her shoulders and taking a sip of her own tea. She smacked her lips together and then continued, "And he said – in few words – that if your situation got too severe, that I should fire him, and not you."

Hermione blinked.

"Well, he's always been the noble one," Hermione said coldly.

At one point in her life she admired his nobility, was even _attracted _to it. She had loved the way he'd desired to put others before himself.

But now, it was annoying and unbearable, and she couldn't stand that about him. Even now he was trying to make her look like the bad one... There was Harry, gracefully taking the job position and being so goddamn noble, meanwhile Hermione was the one rushing to the Headmistress, practically demanding an explanation for his appointment.

"Ah, yes, well…." McGonagall said awkwardly. She took another sip. "I will assume that you two will be civil and well-behaved?"

She hesitated. "Yes. I think I should be going." Hermione stood up.

"So soon? Well… alright then…. Goodbye, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, standing up as well and gesturing softly to the door.

. . . . .

Harry woke with a start, shaking and muttering incoherently. He sat up and felt around for his glasses. His knuckles met his nightstand and he cursed, grabbing his glasses and sliding them right on. His new living quarters came slowly into view. He shook his head and wiped cold sweat from his forehead.

He had to relive Hermione's departure in his dream.

The pain he suffered was not because of the way she had screamed at him, or threatened him with her wand that made him so shaky. It was that look on her face. He'd never forget that look.

She looked hurt.

It was a pain that not even the Cruciatus curse could reach. She was crying, and every shake of her head had meant that there was nothing he could do. That look on her face was a ghost that was now imprinted in his mind forever. He and Ron had made her the third wheel of their trio all through Hogwarts. She'd made it very clear that she had felt this way for a long time, and that she felt like all she was there for was to do their homework.

But Harry never thought that… sure, she had helped him with loads of homework assignments, and maybe he asked for her assistance with Auror reports – but she _had _agreed, somewhat begrudgingly, to help him most of the time, he had never really _forced _her to do anything, had he? But Harry did remember, now that he thought about it, that she always looked rather hesitant and upset when he'd asked for her help.

"How much do I mean to you, Harry?" were the last words she'd said to him, in a shaky, trembling voice.

And Harry made a stammered reply: "You're – you're my friend! You –"

But she'd left.

And the guilt that she'd left him with weighed down on his shoulders as he stood up and got ready for the day. God, what he would give just to see her…. Every time he thought about her, he tried to play a potential conversation in his mind, a way he could charm her back into their friendship. But he didn't know what he would say to her. Perhaps he'd tell her first off that he wanted her back as one of his best friends; that he wanted to be able to talk to her whenever he felt like it. And they could make jokes about Filch and the retired Madam Pince. And then maybe he would tell her that his life was dramatically different – for the worse – without her. And then he'd say that he hadn't realized what he had until it left him.

Harry stumbled out of his living quarters after showering – which was connected to his office through a passageway – and began to walk down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He had set this door to be password-protected, much like how Dumbledore had protected his office. His hands balled into fists. Harry felt that after the war, there was no reason to _not _be cautious and take extra steps for security. Every time he stopped by Teddy and Andromeda's house, he always double-checked the security charms.

The day before at Hogwarts had been full of gaping stares and questions about how he'd defeated You-Know-Who by the younger students, and it had worn him out.

The rest of the week went by smoothly. There were less eager-looking students, and the buzz about Harry Potter being the new teacher had died down. His lessons were strictly practical that week, even with the younger grade levels. Apparently his talk with the fifth year Carly was spread throughout the school, and he did not hear any more remarks about Hermione.

Yet she was still present in his mind….

. . . . .

It was a long week.

Hermione walked into the Three Broomsticks on a Saturday afternoon. There were the usual stares and murmurs, but now that she was looking for her best friend here, it didn't seem as bad…. And besides, she'd gotten her new job already, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

She'd written to Luna – one of the few people in the world who did not judge Hermione from her departure from the "Golden Trio" – because she desperately needed some sort of escapism from what was going on at Hogwarts: Harry was working there, and she had yet to wrap her head around it.

Luna was still friendly with Ron and Harry as well, and she did not place the blame on anyone. Hermione still felt guilty, to that day, of ever being mean to Luna in the past. Her lack of judging people was what made her a truly beautiful person.

The room was filled with warmth and the sweet smell of butterbeer. There was a cheery aura about the air that made Hermione grin. She remembered going here during her trips to Hogsmeade in her Hogwarts years….

"Hermione!" Luna shrieked from a booth, waving her hand more eagerly than was usually acceptable in public. Her radish earrings were swinging from her ears because of her excessive greeting, and her hair was tied up into a messy bun at the top of her head.

"Hello, Luna," Hermione said breathlessly, slipping into the booth and sitting herself comfortably across from her friend. "Thanks so much for showing up."

"Oh, it was nothing," Luna said dreamily. Her bright eyes were scanning the room before they landed on Hermione again. "I was going to go fishing with daddy, but I asked him if we could change the trip to tomorrow because I told him that Hermione needed a friend."

"Oh, thank you, you didn't have to do that," Hermione said guiltily. She brushed a few pieces of hair from her face and coughed.

"I ordered a butterbeer for myself; I wasn't sure what you wanted. Their menu is quite bland, don't you think?"

"Well, I –"

But Hermione was spared having to answer, because Madam Rosmerta put a butterbeer in front of Luna and then looked expectantly at Hermione.

"I'll have Firewhiskey, please," Hermione said at once, without thinking. "The strongest you've got."

Luna looked at her with eyes wider than usual as Madam Rosmerta left. "Hermione, you've only had that once before!" she exclaimed.

Hermione did not question how Luna knew just how many times that she had had Firewhiskey.

"Firewhiskey and a best friend is what I need right now," Hermione explained with a sigh. "Anyway, Luna, how've you been?"

"Oh, I've been quite alright, thank you," Luna said. She tilted her head sideways and looked curiously at Hermione. "But please don't try to act interested in how I've been when you're obviously very upset about Harry working at Hogwarts."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I – Luna, I mean, I – that's beside the point. He's –"

"—annoying you just by being in the same building," Luna finished. "Personally, I don't think you should let it get to you."

"Well, I've been trying to ignore it," Hermione said indignantly. It was true. She _had _been desperately trying to ignore his presence there.

Madam Rosmerta came by and placed a glass in front of her. She remembered how Ron always quite obviously fancied her. Hermione grabbed it and took a huge gulp of the Firewhiskey. It burned the back of her throat. That familiar sense of courage was creeping onto her senses and was replacing her shakiness with strength.

"But I constantly hear about him. 'Professor Potter this' and 'Professor Potter that'. It's not even so much the fact that he's famous anymore… everyone just loves his teaching methods. One student said that he's starting to teach some of them how to Stun, far before the age when any of us mastered it."

"Well, Harry _is _a great teacher," Luna pointed out. "Remember when he led the D.A.?"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Hermione said briskly, waving her hand. One of the reasons she loved him was his leadership. She took another large gulp of her Firewhiskey. God, this was just what she needed.

"You know, Harry also drinks Firewhiskey," Luna said conversationally with a shrug.

"And as an adult, he is allowed to."

Luna leaned over the table and said, "Well, he drinks it alone. Ron's told me about it. Even Harry told me, when I visited him for lunch at the Ministry a few months ago. I think he just gets really sad, you know, now that Ginny left him and you're not talking to him. And he hasn't had the most pleasant life, has he? He looks upset all the time. I try to help him, because that's what friends do. I even asked him to go on a fishing trip with me and daddy. I feel bad for Harry sometimes. It's all quite sad."

Luna leaned back into her normal sitting position and looked curiously at everyone else in the room. Hermione looked down at her own glass of Firewhiskey. The courage that this beverage had given her was now ebbing away. She furrowed her brow. A part of her – the part that was buried beneath the illusion of happiness that she'd been putting on for years – wanted to run over to Harry and slap him for being so stupid, and then hug him to console him.

Harry was depressed? Well, he'd never been a particularly happy person in the first place, and Hermione always tried to help him in that respect. Even if he wasn't an alcoholic, it was still upsetting to hear that he had to turn to Firewhiskey for comfort… and she knew, from what Luna said, that she was part of the reason that he did this.

"Are you sure about this, Luna?" she asked softly.

"Of course. I've even seen him after he drinks. Once he showed up at my house, looking like a mess. Ron was out in Albania, tracking down some Dark wizards, and he needed a friend…. Oh, it's awful! It's sad to see best friends so upset." Luna looked back at Hermione. "I can tell that you still care about him, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "If he wants to be that way, then so be it," she said quietly.

Hermione waved her wand and used it to lift the glass of Firewhiskey, and it swirled lazily in midair. She watched the liquid contents flow with the rhythm of her flicking wrist. Her hand began to shake. She never knew that she was part of the reason Harry was becoming accustomed to going to this drink for comfort. And now she felt guilty, and she hated herself for it, because Harry was supposed to be the one who should've felt guilty.

Yet Hermione's guilt didn't extend to consistently grabbing a Firewhiskey to numb her pain….

"Ginny left him?" Hermione asked. Her voice sounded very distant.

"Oh, yes," Luna said sadly. "Ginny went to play on the Holyhead Harpies, and it involves a lot of travel. She left to play on the team even when Harry said that he wanted to stay put for Teddy's sake. She preferred Quidditch over Harry. Personally, I think Harry is more valuable than most wizarding sports."

Hermione did not say anything for a few moments. She kept watching the swirling glass of Firewhiskey. Whatever she had been expecting from this meet up with Luna, _this _was not it. Hermione thought that she'd probably feel proud of Ginny for taking a stand against Harry as well… but she couldn't bring herself to feel that way. Quite honestly, she was angry at Ginny. She was just being whiny, really. Ginny wasn't used for years on end as a homework helper and know-it-all, like Hermione was. Ginny wasn't the third wheel in a trio involving Harry. Ginny wasn't in the background of the attention. Ginny wasn't shoved aside when she wasn't needed.

"Has he dated anyone else since then?" Hermione asked stupidly in a near whisper.

"Not that I know of, which is odd, because he is very handsome, you know." Luna paused as Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Oh, Hermione, do you still have feelings for him?"

"Shh!"

Hermione sighed and buried her face in her hands. It was painful to hear the words aloud. _Feelings for him_. Those _feelings _were what kept her sitting here, feeling like shit and wanting to kill Ginny and having a burning desire to run away forever.

She loved Harry.

And Harry was unattainable. Even though he was now single, and worked in the same building as her, he felt even more unattainable than ever.

She tried to remind herself that he _had _been checking her out at the Yule Ball in their fourth year – come on, his jaw wasn't dropping because he thought she was _ugly _– but clearly whatever attraction had lasted in those few seconds meant nothing, even though Hermione had fallen asleep that night smiling (despite Ron being an arse) because Harry had looked at her in the way every girl wanted to be looked at.

No, Harry was not attracted to her. She was just that plain, simple, bookworm that always had the answers. And when she wasn't needed, it was just Harry and Ron. She was the third wheel. Hermione was the one to yell at them for their rule-breaking, and they always got frustrated, but really, _someone _had to put them in their place!

She had accepted Harry's out-of-control temper and inability to think things through, but couldn't he accept her need to follow rules?

How had he not known that she had feelings for him? It was so blatantly obvious. He was just so dim-witted. No wonder he needed a bookworm to follow him around. Hermione deserved better… whether she wanted better, however, was the question that had been haunting her for years.

And God, not to mention Ron…. She'd dated him because she _had _developed a liking for Ron, after all, he was very protective of her and tried his best to make peace with her after he left her and Harry in that tent. But Ron could never make her happy. He was always picking fights with her. He never cared to know why she loved books so much, he _despised _books, and he reminded her of that daily. Ron putting her down was not a relationship.

She was stupid, stupid, _stupid_. If she was keeping herself out of Harry's life, then Ron was so far gone from her life that it was almost laughable. If anything, Harry had treated her with more respect than Ron ever had. Hermione's Hogwarts years were stained with memories of Ron constantly picking on her because of her obsession with books.

And now she was a librarian. Oh, Ron would love that…. She could imagine him laughing at this. Still, after all these years, whenever she did something that had a bookworm or know-it-all nature, she could hear Ron's voice mocking her and not hear Harry say anything… he'd stood aside and let it happen, and only got involved when it bothered _him _because he was annoyed with their bickering, not annoyed that Ron was killing her inside.

"Well, do you?" Luna repeated, snapping Hermione from her thoughts.

Hermione bit her lip. Of course she still had feelings for Harry. If she could control who she loved, she'd be sitting here with a respectable, knowledgeable man who saw more to her than just her infatuation with books, and she wouldn't be sitting across from her friend, on the verge of tears because the man she loved did not love her back.

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

"Oh, Hermione!" Luna squealed. She leaned over the table and awkwardly gave her a one-armed hug. "Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!" She pulled back from her friend. There were tears shining in Luna's bright eyes.

"Luna, what –?"

"I get quite sad sometimes, you know," Luna said, sniffing, "because you don't ever talk to Harry anymore. It's like… it's like a broken family, I think. Harry has always wanted a family. He really misses you. He misses you so much, Hermione…."

Hermione had never seen Luna genuinely upset before. It broke her heart to see her best friend like this. "Luna, he doesn't miss me," Hermione choked out. "It's alright. It's for the best."

Luna shook her head and wiped the tears that had begun to fall from her eyes. Even her radish earrings seemed to just hang uselessly there.

"I don't think it's for the best," she noted quietly. "Oh, please talk to him, Hermione, please!"

"I'm sorry, Luna, but I can't," Hermione said in a strained voice. "What's done is done."

She flicked her wand upward and her glass of Firewhiskey fell slowly and gracefully back down to the table where it sat snugly in front of Hermione. She took a small sip of it and felt the burning sensation scorch her throat.

Luna nodded. "Well… can you promise me one thing?"

Hermione looked into Luna's bright, hopefully eyes and sighed. "Sure, Luna."

"Promise me that you won't hex him if you see him, like last time. He really didn't like that, you know."

It would have been funny if the expression on Luna's face wasn't so serious. She looked genuinely concerned for Harry's safety at this point….

"Alright," Hermione agreed. "I know that it was a pretty nasty of me to do that, but honestly, I didn't mean to hurt him that much, he took me by surprise and I didn't know who it was! You know how I get after… after what happened."

By "what happened" she meant the war. Hermione was never the same; she'd become extremely cautious of her surroundings. The war had shaken her.

"But I promise I won't hurt him… that is, if he won't hurt me. Physically, anyway. He's done enough emotional damage."

"He would never physically hurt you!" Luna cried out.

True. That was true. Neither Harry nor Ron had ever raised a hand to her.

Hermione stared at her glass of Firewhiskey that was resting on the table that separated her and Luna. It was hard to imagine Harry breaking down and drinking away his worries. She had always seen him as the strongest one of the trio, the one to go through hell and back and still manage to stand up straight and live to tell the tale. He was just this constant, this strong young man who'd always been the one to overcome obstacles and make sacrifices.

And there was always that saving-people-thing.

"You don't think any less of me, Luna, do you?" Hermione asked weakly.

"Of course not, Hermione," Luna said. She shook her head and her radish earrings dangled. "You're one of my best friends! Friends don't think bad things about each other."

Hermione nodded slowly and smiled. "Thank you," she said in a low voice.

"How are your parents?" Luna asked out of the blue. "I would like to meet them one day, you know."

"Oh, they're –" Hermione paused. "They're doing well, as far as I know. I haven't seen them since Easter."

"Are they still upset?"

"Well, things have been getting better since I told them I left Harry. I haven't told them that I've quit my job at the Ministry to be a librarian. It might kill them. They've always wanted me to take advantage of my education and huge job opportunities and to not put anyone else forward," Hermione said. "They just… they don't understand that some things are worth more than books and an education and money."

"Like saving the world."

"Like saving the world," Hermione repeated. "I could never shut up about Harry, you know…." She paused, almost ready to laugh at the memory. "Harry this and Harry that. I think they always feared that I'd give up everything for him. And I did. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a hell of a lot of determination when I agreed to help Harry."

"Well, he never really asked for your help, did he?" Luna observed. "He always wanted to be on his own."

"Yes," Hermione said slowly with a feeling of dread coursing through her, "he never asked for my help. But _honestly _Luna, I loved the man, would I let him face Voldemort by himself? Never in a million years would I let that happen. And he _knew _that I cared about him and that I'd be there for him. He's not stupid. You know that I'd drop everything for him if he were in trouble. Even now, if he was in danger or in trouble, or – or something, I'd be there for him. But he doesn't need me now. This is for the best."

Luna stared at her. "But Hermione… I think that he _is _in trouble."

Hermione sighed. She was starting to feel guilty again, and the guilt would consume her if this continued any longer. She glared at her glass of Firewhiskey.

"Luna… I'm not being ridiculous, or overreacting, am I?" she asked desperately, her voice shaking. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Knowing that Harry was in a sad state was making her rethink everything. She thought that he would be fine her leaving… he didn't love her back, right?

"I don't think you're being ridiculous," Luna said, although coming from her, it somehow wasn't much of a reassurance. "I think that you just love him and think that he doesn't love you back, so you left."

"I _know _that he doesn't love me back," Hermione said. She gripped her glass of Firewhiskey tightly and stared at it, refusing to face her best friend.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw that Luna was shaking her head.

"Oh God, Luna, what should I do?" Hermione asked helplessly.

It was a sign of how desperate she was for advice that she was turning to Luna Lovegood for it. Then again, Luna was her only friend. Hermione felt like that pathetic first year again, feeling lonelier than ever, running off to the toilets in tears. But that time, Harry had saved her. Hermione would never ever forget that look in his gorgeous eyes when he ran into the room, looking for her… he had looked genuinely scared, scared that he'd lose her….

Luna lazily took a sip of her butterbeer and stared down at her own knees. Hermione watched her expectantly with a sense of urgency about her.

"Do what you think is right, Hermione," Luna said simply, grabbing her glass of butterbeer and taking another sip.

"That's it?"

Luna nodded. "It will all work out in the end," she said confidently.

Hermione took one huge gulp of her Firewhiskey, desperate for the burning sensation that was now tingling the back of her throat.

"I've been avoiding him for three years and now we're both working at Hogwarts, and _I'm_ a mess – " Hermione pointed to herself for effect, " – and _he's _amess, and I love him, Luna, and I don't know what the hell to do, but it'll all work out in the end?"

Luna nodded again. She looked rather bored as she tapped her fingers on the table between them. "Things always have a way of working out in the end. You'll see."

Hermione took another sip of her Firewhiskey. It was half empty now.

. . .

The following Monday, Hermione decided to take a nice, quiet walk throughout the school. She needed to clear her head. Everything was getting to her and she was more irritable than ever. She'd snapped at a first year for dropping a book by accident. That was a sign that she needed to get out for a bit.

She'd fancied a breath of fresh air. It was raining outside, and so she had to cope with taking a stroll under the school's roof. Only the sixth and seventh years had time off now – it was their break time – and so she felt that it was the right time to leave the library for a little bit, while everyone else was stuck in classes.

It had been over a week since she'd talked to Luna, and still her mind was racing with what to do. She had always been a quick thinker, but this time, she was clueless. Hermione loved her job. She knew that she was fully qualified to be more than a school librarian, but after all the troubles that Harry and Ron had caused her, she felt that a quiet life was now worth living. Students were generally nice to her, especially when they compared her to Madam Pince. Of course there were the ones who held a grudge against her for destroying the trio, but petty teenagers would not get in her way. She could certainly handle any criticisms now as an adult, especially since all her Hogwarts years were filled with her dealing with being talked down to as a stuffy know-it-all by teenagers…. Hermione loved books and knowledge and magic, and nobody was going to rid her of that. If taking a stand to Harry and Ron's condescending ways and ignorance towards the fact that she had _feelings_ meant that she was to be shunned by teenagers and their stuffy parents, then so be it.

She could live amongst the bookshelves, then, where _they_ did not ridicule her, and beg her to help them their bloody essays and their stupid homework, and constantly put her down.

But now Hermione was away from her sanctuary, trying to take a nice stroll down the corridors. There were still students about – sixth and seventh years had the same idea as her and spent their time during their break walking the corridors – and Peeves messing around, which somewhat ruined her peaceful walk, but all in all it was quite nice.

She'd strategically timed her walk so that classes were going on…. Surely Harry would have a class to teach right now. Of course, there was the chance that his break was the same as the sixth or seventh years, if he normally taught them at this time, but she was doubtful. She'd been avoiding him for practically two weeks now! Hermione should have received an award for this sort of stealth.

When she turned the corner, however, all she thought was that she _really _just wanted a nice, quiet walk down the corridors, and this was not the way she'd planned her day.

Harry was there.


	4. Until It's Gone

**Author's Note: **Okay guys, here's the next chapter. Sorry for being so late when it came to replying to your reviews, a lot of stuff was going on. Next week I'll be starting my junior year of high school, and I'm in a few AP classes so I will be giving away my soul, but I will still try to make sure that you guys get weekly updates. And thank you to dirtylaundry022 for looking this over and being my unofficial beta.

* * *

The Librarian

_Chapter Four: Until It's Gone_

Hermione froze. Something had glued her feet to the floor and tied her arms to her sides and widened her eyes.

He was different.

Harry was different.

He stood there, stopping his brisk walk, with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at her with his mouth wide open. He seemed just as surprised by her as she was by him.

There was a dark shadow along his jaw line, and his hair was messier than ever, and his eyebrows were pulled together, and his green eyes were bloodshot, and _God____, _he was different, and he looked like hell, and Hermione almost wanted to ask if he was okay… and she hated herself for it.

Their years of separation had done a toll on him.

Did she look different to him? He was certainly looking at her like she was different. Did she look like hell, too? Had three years changed her that much? She felt different, and perhaps not for the better. No, _definitely _not for the better.

The two of them stared at each other, neither of them sure of what to do. Hermione felt her heart racing behind her ribs. Could he hear her heartbeat, too? Her hands instinctively balled up into fists, and they were shaking. They were really, really shaking. She felt goose bumps ride up her pale skin. Cold sweat was collecting at her hairline. Her bottom lip was trembling.

She didn't feel angry at him. She thought that she would feel a rush of anger whenever she saw Harry again, but her rage was nowhere to be found… she must have left it back with common sense, back in her living quarters, or perhaps the library. How could she be pissed when he looked like he'd just walked out of hell? Or maybe he was still trapped in it….

"Hi."

Harry's voice was different. He sounded nervous, like she was going to hex him again.

Hermione didn't know if she was supposed to reply or not. She wasn't sure _what _to think. Her mind was going blank… her mind, her best weapon, was actually failing her for the first time. Her heart kept racing. Her hands were still shaking at her sides. She must have looked ridiculous, and for a moment, she felt embarrassed. _Embarrassed! _This man had been her best friend for practically a decade, and she was _embarrassed _in front of him.

She just nodded in acknowledgement towards him and said, "Hello."

Her voice was different, too. It wasn't her normal, bossy, Hermione-ish voice that she used around most people. It wasn't even that soft voice she normally had saved just for Harry. It was a small, trembling voice that sounded weak and almost like she was going to cry.

Was speaking the right thing to do? Was that being too nice, to acknowledge his existence? Would he take it as more than it was? No, he wouldn't… he never took her hints as anything in their Hogwarts years, he never knew about her feelings towards him…. Harry was never good at taking hints….

She folded her arms across her chest. Hearing his voice had somehow unfrozen her from her position. Hermione began to walk, determined to get past him now, trying desperately to act as though they hadn't seen each other, as though this was not possibly the most awkward moment of her life. She couldn't do this anymore. There was a tangible tenseness in the air.

Seeing him was suddenly changing everything, and she needed to get away…. She needed to think straight….

"I – er – how've you – you been?" Harry asked in a rushed, choked voice as she walked quickly, her heels slamming against the tiled floor.

She slowed down her pace and shrugged, staring at the floor beneath her. Hermione knew that she was watching him. A pink flush flew to her cheeks.

Quite honestly, she didn't know how she'd been. Hermione could not use words to describe the last three years. It was all a blur of emotions.

She was unable to meet his eyes. Hermione kept walking. She was a few feet away from him now. She would not turn around and walk the other way; she would keep walking normally and continue on her path to wherever the hell she was going.

As she walked further past him, she saw his body twist around through the corner of her eye. There was a strong smell of Firewhiskey to him and she felt tears stinging her eyes. Oh no… she heard Luna say that once in a while he turned to alcohol, but to actually have the proof in front of her was bothersome. She felt that protective side of her rushing in without consent. It always did that; she always felt protective of Harry, and she always _would _feel that way, even against the horrors of alcohol.

"You smell like Firewhiskey," she said shortly, stopping in her tracks. It was stupid and dumb and utterly ridiculous of her, but her mind was still blank and she was losing control of her emotions.

"I –"

"You need to stop, you know," she said quietly. Even though her voice was quiet, her tone certainly said a lot, and she witnessed his eyes widening.

Some of her usual, indignant gusto was coming back to her, building up behind the glare that she gave him. Hermione wasn't sure why she was talking to him, but it needed to be said. Harry needed to stop. She had been one of the few people he had ever taken seriously before. Maybe he would still take her advice.

"I know," Harry told her gently.

He was staring straight at her with a pleading look in his eyes, like he wanted her to stay in that corridor forever with him. Hermione, meanwhile, wanted nothing more than to leave. Harry did not look angry at her for leaving. He looked upset. She'd prefer him having a hissy fit and throwing every curse word known to man at her. _This_, the look in his eyes, was something she had been avoiding ever since she'd left. Hermione never liked seeing a broken Harry… it always summoned a caring side to her that would reach the end of the universe and back if it meant that Harry would be happy again.

She couldn't stand being so close to someone so unattainable. He did not love her back. She would always be the plain, know-it-all, bookworm Hermione Granger to him.

Hermione took a deep breath and walked past him, still taking in his scent of Firewhiskey. Her heels were deafeningly loud against the tiled floor. She could feel his gaze following her until she turned the corner with her head still hung. Hermione's pace quickened and she finally made it back to the library. She unlocked the door and ran through the door way.

It wasn't until she slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against the wall that she began to cry.

. . . . .

"So, you saw her?"

Harry nodded, feeling stupid and staring down at his hands.

Andromeda Tonks gave him a searching look and looked like she was going to speak, but there was a crash in the living room.

"Oh, good God –"

"I'll get it," Harry said quickly.

He stood up from his chair in the kitchen and walked towards the source of the noise. When he entered the living room, he saw that Teddy Lupin was staring at a broken vase with an expression of curiosity.

"Teddy, did you do this?"

Teddy turned his head and his eyes – a shade of dark brown today – widened.

"Sorry, Harry," he mumbled.

Harry just chuckled and said, "It's fine, it's fine…. _Reparo!_"

He only punished Teddy when he found it absolutely necessary. Andromeda said, jokingly, that Harry spoiled Teddy… but Harry wanted to make sure that Teddy had the childhood that he never had.

Teddy clapped. "Aunt Hermy-own did that last time she visited!" he squealed. Instead of smiling, though, the boy looked a bit upset. His hair turned a shade of blue.

Harry forced a smile to send to his godson, hoping that would cheer him up. Hermione often visited Teddy when she was sure Harry wouldn't be there. Andromeda, like Luna, did not hold anyone accountable for what had happened. She was just glad that both Harry and Hermione (Ron never particularly made visits on his own, but he did go along when Harry invited him) still stopped by to see Teddy. Hermione had, according to Andromeda, been getting Ted into books, something that neither Harry nor Andromeda was particularly interested in.

Even Teddy was starting to realize now that Harry and Hermione did not visit together like they had at first.

Harry bent his knees so that he was nearly at the same eye level as Teddy.

"What did you break that time?" Harry asked his godson.

"I was helping grandma and Aunt Hermy-own with dinner," Teddy said, getting to his feet and his eyes brightening, "and I dropped a plate. Harry, when – when can _I _do magic?"

"When you go to Hogwarts, which will be in five years. I'm a teacher there," Harry added excitedly.

Teddy looked off to the side with a questioning look on his face, clearly trying to figure out how long five years was.

"You'll teach me everything?"

"Everything, little man," Harry said. "Hey, have you seen John lately?"

John was a boy who was taken to the neighborhood park, who was around Ted's age. Harry was relieved at the fact that Teddy had a friend his age to hang around with. His own childhood was only too keen to remind him that Harry had never had friends until he was eleven years old. Harry found that Teddy was sometimes reserved, almost too reserved, around other people – the only people he was comfortable around were his grandmother, Harry, and Hermione. He was like his mother when it came to his ability to change his appearances, and he had that heart-shaped face of hers, but his personality was very much like that of his father's.

"Yup," Teddy said. "Grandma took me to the park yesterday, and he was there."

"Awesome," Harry said happily. "Hey, listen – I've got to talk to your grandmother for a little bit, alright, Ted? Then maybe you and I can sneak off and get dinner in Hogsmeade, even though we're meant to go just on Saturdays, okay?"

Teddy laughed, and Harry ruffled his godson's hair again, which was now turning a blonde shade. Harry always took Teddy out to Hogsmeade on Saturdays and, sometimes, when Andromeda allowed it, went on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley on Sundays. He loved his godson and he knew that Teddy deserved the best childhood possible.

He turned around and walked back into the kitchen, where Andromeda had her hands folded on the table and wore an expression that showed that she was deep in thought.

"Back, sorry about that, Teddy broke a vase –"

"Did she say anything to you?" Andromeda asked suddenly.

"Er –" Harry sat down. So they were back on the topic of Hermione. "Yeah. She just told me to… to stop drinking, said that I smelled like Firewhiskey. But I only had half a bottle of Firewhiskey, I swear, it was a tough week and I –"

"We've talked about this before, Harry," Andromeda said firmly, "and while you've never dared to come and hang out with Teddy while you're in a bad state, I don't ever want it to happen. The moment I get one whiff of Firewhiskey, you won't be allowed to see my grandson until the day I die."

"I know, I –"

"Anyway," she said simply, trying to stray away from that subject, and reassured that she'd gotten her point across to Harry, "she still cares about you, Harry. I don't think that Hermione Granger will ever stop caring about you."

"No, she doesn't," Harry told her in a dignified voice. "With all due respect, Andromeda, you don't know the whole situation –"

"I know enough," she said quietly.

Andromeda Tonks had a knack for telling Harry what needed to be said, even when he did not want to hear it. She was like a normal version of Luna Lovegood, due to her ability to say the truth no matter what, and never refraining from saying what was on her mind. The war had hardened her; she'd lost her husband and her daughter. Teddy was all that she had. There had been long periods of grief where Harry had taken Teddy in for weeks at a time, away from an Andromeda that they did not want to face.

"Hermione just wanted to nag me about something," Harry defended himself angrily, without thinking.

"We both know that she was not nagging you," Andromeda said. "She just cares about you and doesn't want you to get hurt."

"If she cares so much, she wouldn't have left," he said weakly.

However he found it harder and harder to defend himself against Hermione. She was right to leave… he was a jerk – both he and Ron were – to her, who completely ignored the fact that she had feelings. It was only a matter of time until Hermione couldn't take being the third wheel anymore. Just like typical Hermione, she took a stand against the treatment of her.

"Has she mentioned me at all when she's stopped by? Or acted like I'm alive?" he added quickly.

Andromeda slowly shook her head, avoiding Harry's gaze. Harry sighed and balled his hands into fists.

Seeing Hermione had changed everything. Harry wanted to look at her forever and scream out apologies in a passion-filled voice, but all he'd said was a lame, "Hi," as a greeting.

She had changed.

Was it just him, or did Hermione look a lot prettier, too? She had never been ugly – in fact, Harry always knew she was pretty – but now she had a polished look about her, like she was desperately trying to create an illusion of perfection, like she wanted to hide the true Hermione. Her bushy hair had been pulled into a bun at the back of her head, hiding its bushiness. He was fine with the way her hair was before, though. Maybe he would tell her that one day.

Harry wanted the old Hermione back… he wanted to spend hours in the library with her if that's what he had to do. He'd sit there and watch her read an infinite amount of books, and they could even talk about them, too, if she wanted to. He wouldn't breathe a word of Quidditch if it would annoy her. Harry could even join S.P.E.W., if she was still into that. Perhaps he would ask her about the society, and they could talk about it. Just a pleasant conversation… that was all he wanted from her.

Now he missed her even more. When he saw her, the corridor had been momentarily deprived of oxygen, and his knees had weakened a great deal. He had called that woman his best friend during a very large part of his life. And now he wanted to call her that again… he wanted to look at Hermione without sensing hostility from her. He wanted to look at her and think: _That's my best friend_.

But considering how much he missed her, he wasn't sure if it was normal to miss a _best friend _that much. It wasn't even like he'd lost his best friend; it was as though he had lost a part of him, a piece of soul, when Hermione walked out.

It was his insensitivity that pushed her away. He wanted to take a Time Turner and undo all the damage of seven years, to treat her more nicely, to respect her for who she was. All he knew was that he wanted to build back up his friendship with her.

Her hostility was worse than her yelling. Harry would have preferred her hexing him again than _this_. It was as though they were complete strangers. At least if she'd hexed him, they would be acknowledged as someone who was certainly not a stranger. But now they had acted like they hadn't gone through hell together, like she hadn't picked him over Ron in that tent, like she wasn't the one person who had completely stuck with him to the end of Voldemort, like she hadn't shown him strength and compassion and, most of all, loyalty. For them to act like strangers was tearing Harry apart.

"I need to talk to her," Harry said suddenly, slamming his fist on the table as though to add to the effect of his words.

Andromeda looked up from her hands and stared at him for a few silent moments before speaking. "And what will you say?"

"Everything," he said breathlessly. "Everything. I want to apologize for being a –"

"Teddy's in the next room."

"—a jerk," Harry recovered, saying a nicer term than what he was really going to say. "I can't just… I can't just sit around and wait for her… I'll be waiting for the rest of my life if I try that. No, I have to – I have to talk to her." He stood up. "I need Hermione."

Andromeda did not respond immediately. She was anxiously twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She smiled sadly and then said, "You don't know what you have until it's gone."

. . . . .

There came a point in time when Hermione was very close to resigning.

But she was smarter than that. To resign meant to show weakness, and when had Hermione Granger ever shown weakness? Well, Harry Potter was the exception, of course. He was her one weakness, the one person she'd do anything for and the one person she was avoiding at all costs.

The library was closed, because it was ten o'clock at night. Hermione felt tired and worn out… her day had been spent reading _Hogwarts, a History _yet again – she could hear Harry's and Ron's degrading comments about this, and was reminded as to why she should have resigned – just to pass the time. But somehow, even reading would not calm her down. Hermione found herself constantly on edge, always looking out for when she'd see Harry again. She could not bear to see him. Harry had changed, and a part of her was almost certain that his disheveled appearance was due to her leaving. She placed a bit of blame on Ginny leaving him as well. Hermione never thought they were a good couple, but perhaps she'd been a bit biased in thinking this. It seemed ridiculous that Harry went for his fan girl and not the one girl who'd been the constant in his life.

However a part of her wanted to see him again, no matter how guilty she felt about it. Hermione loved him and her heart was throbbing – quite literally – to just catch one glimpse of him, whereas her brain was calling her stupid and saying that Harry did not deserve her, and that was one of the reasons she'd left him. Seeing him had changed everything. The whole purpose of her avoiding him was because she _knew_– She knew it! She knew it all along! – That if she saw him, she'd be sucked right in again. And she was… and Hermione hated herself for it. And then she hated herself for hating herself. It was a vicious cycle of self-hate that, quite honestly, she simply didn't have the time for. It was all getting rather complicated, and it was times like these where her mind would go blank and she had to think just to remember her own name again because all she could think of was Harry, and his bright emerald eyes and his dark messy hair….

Harry did not make an effort to see her all week. She was grateful for this… if he made a scene in front of students at the library, it would have been catastrophic. The last thing she needed to do was talk to Harry in public.

But the wish that Harry would not talk to her in public had a loophole: instead, he talked to her in private.

Five after ten, there was a whispered, "_Alohomora_," from the doorway, and suddenly the door to the library opened. She thought that voice was coming from a student, naturally.

"The library's closed!" she barked.

She walked around to the front of her desk and held her wand tightly in her hand. It was an instinct of hers, after the war, to always be armed, even if her assumed target was a student. Hermione still had nightmares of the war… of Voldemort, of Death Eaters, of Bellatrix Lestrange's insanity and desire to torture….

. . . . .

In those first few moments, Harry remained under his Invisibility Cloak right after he opened the library door.

Oh Lord, there she was.

Hermione was walking around to the front of her desk with her wand held out defensively. The hell she had went through to help Harry defeat Voldemort made her this way, and it caused Harry to feel even guiltier. Her cloak was hanging off the edge of her desk, leaving her just wearing a Muggle outfit that Harry remembered many businesswomen wore, with a blouse tucked beneath a skirt that pinched her waist; however there were a few random buttons undone as though she'd dressed in a haste, and the hem of her blouse was peaking over her skirt in some places. Her hair was falling out of the bun it had been tightly encased in, and there was virtually no makeup on her face.

Harry wanted to tell her how much better she looked like this rather than the uptight, polished woman he'd met in the corridor that day. She looked beautiful. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd suddenly become so fond of how she looked, but all he knew was that he loved this natural form of Hermione. This looked more like the Hermione he grew up with…

"Who's out there?" Hermione called out. "The library's closed, you know –"

"It's me," Harry said.

At a time in their lives, Hermione would have been relieved, but now she looked even more tensed as he removed his Invisibility Cloak.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked. She lowered her wand but did not let go of it.

"I want to apologize," Harry said breathlessly. He pocketed the Cloak and looked at her with a pleading look blazing in his emerald eyes. Could she see how desperate he was right now? "I want to make things right, I want to fix this… fix _us_."

He gestured between them. _Please, Hermione_, he thought. There was sweat collecting on the back of his neck and at his hairline. Hermione had a hard look in her eyes. She was staring at him as though he was an intruder of her dear library and he was here to burn all of her precious books. That look was making Harry realize that a few words of apology were clearly not going to cut it.

"I'd like you to leave," Hermione said firmly. A few strands of chocolate brown hair fell into her equally brown eyes, but she did not bother to wipe them away. A blush was rising to her cheeks, which Harry thought was odd. It certainly conflicted with what she was saying. "Please."

"Hermione, please listen –"

"I don't have time to listen to your scripted apologies," Hermione said. Her voice was quiet but had a strong dose of power laced within it. "There's nothing that you can do."

"This isn't scripted!" Harry exclaimed. His hands balled into fists. His blood was boiling because he was angry, not at Hermione, but at himself.

"Just go, Harry." She spoke his name as though it were a vile curse word. "I can't do this."

"What did I do wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked. He took a small step towards her. "I know that I might have been a little ignorant, but – but for you to do _this_? What did I do?"

"It's more about what you didn't do," Hermione told him swiftly. Her eyes darted down at the floor, and she looked like the helpless twelve-year-old girl he'd saved from a troll. "Please go. There's nothing that you can do now."

"Hermione –"

"Harry, for Christ's sake, _leave_!" she shouted. "I can't – I can't deal with you right now!"

Harry was half expecting her to raise her wand, but she did not, even though he could have sworn that he saw her wand hand twitching upwards. There was a fire in her brown eyes and he was reminded that Hermione was _not _that helpless twelve-year-old girl anymore… she was over a decade older, and she was the strongest girl that he had ever known.

Harry backed away. Hermione would clearly only get more pissed if he stayed.

"I want my best friend back," he said as he took several steps away from her, but this only seemed to anger her further. "I'm sorry, not just for coming here, but for everything."

He reached the library doors. Hermione was still looking at him. Looking at the blazing look on her face somehow sent chills down his spine. God, what he wouldn't give to be on civil terms with her at least, to be able to talk to her….

"You mean a lot to me, Hermione," he said. "More than you'll ever know."

Hermione's eyes widened and the fire in her eyes was gone for just a moment. Both of them knew that Hermione's last words before she'd left him were, "How much do I mean to you, Harry?"

Her pink lips were parted but no words came out. A strand of hair fell and framed one side of her pretty face. He could see the freckles splattered across her small nose… had she always had freckles?

"Oh, Harry," she said softly.

It was the first time she'd used a gentle tone with him since she'd left. She bit her lip and then put her face in her hands. Harry's heart broke.

He stepped towards her and said, "Hermione – look, don't be upset, I didn't –"

"I need to think," she said in a muffled voice from behind her hands. "Please go."

"But –"

"I'm sorry. Please, just go."

Harry nodded, even though she couldn't see him.

"I-I'll go, I'm leaving, okay? I'll give you time to think, if that's what you want," he said, slowly stepping back and trying to sound reasonable. "I'll see you around, Hermione."

She froze at that last sentence.

He slipped his Invisibility Cloak on. Somehow, he felt as though running into another staff member after this encounter would be awkward and uncomfortable, and he did not want to see another human being for years. And besides, he liked to be invisible.

As he opened the door, he turned to look over his shoulder. Hermione had extracted her face from her hands and was turning her back to him, leaning against her desk. Her hair looked much better like this, all messy and Hermione-ish.

Maybe he would tell her that one day.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Also, I forgot to mention that I've been in this site for three years. Thank you for all of your support guys, I really do appreciate it. I always look forward to all of your reviews and overall feedback. No matter how bad of a mood I'm in, the feedback from you guys will always cheer me up. I don't think I could thank you guys enough. Even if you're just a lurker, thank you for taking the time to read what I'm writing and not hating me and sticking around :) Thank you so much :D


	5. The Password

The Librarian

_Chapter Five: The Password_

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's head snapped up at the sound of her name. Professor McGonagall was walking up towards her with a nervous look on her face. Hermione looked a little worse for wear… her eyes were red and a little puffy from her unexpected half-conversation with Harry the night before.

She had been putting returned books back in their normal places, but clearly whatever McGonagall was going to tell her would become a priority of hers.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked eagerly, her eyes widening.

"Have you seen Potter?"

"Er, do you mean today?" She was immediately reminded of last night.

"Yes, today," McGonagall said impatiently. "Have you seen him?"

"No," Hermione said simply. She coughed and scanned the shelf before her and put another book back until realizing, a moment later, that she put it in the completely wrong place.

"He hasn't shown up for his class this morning," McGonagall said, "and I think he's in his living quarters, but he's password-protected it. It's very Moody-like of him, to do that."

"Oh." The arm holding the pile of books was shaking.

"Could you help me get him out of his quarters?" McGonagall asked. "He's got a lesson with seventh years next, after break, and he can't miss two lessons. I swear, whatever's going on, he's –"

"I wish I could help, Professor," Hermione said weakly, "but I'm a little busy right now." She gestured to the pile of books in her hand. "Can't you have someone else h-help out?"

"I wouldn't have gone out of my way to ask for your help if I didn't need _your help_," the Headmistress says. "You told me that you wouldn't let anything get in your way about whatever has been going on between you and Potter. You're the only person who could probably lure him out of his quarters."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, well… alright." She agreed to this only because she felt like her job was in danger if she refused her boss; it still felt strange to refer to McGonagall as her boss. She put the pile of books down on a nearby table and followed the Headmistress out of the library.

Hermione was certainly not ready to meet the cause of her crying the night before. Harry telling her that she meant a lot to him somehow made her love him and hate him even more. Those were words that she'd been dying to hear for years, yet hearing them last night sounded too unreal. Hermione knew him well enough to realize that any time Harry said that he cared about someone; it really did mean something, as Harry was never the best at showing his feelings… however she had an inkling of doubt that was nagging her and telling her that he was just making it up to be on civil terms with her…. But certainly he cared enough to make that effort, if he _wanted _to be on civil terms with her?

Hermione had done as she'd told him: she'd used her time to think things through. She wasn't sure _when _she'd ever be done thinking about this situation, though. It seemed like a vicious cycle all on its own.

"Here we are," McGonagall said when they finally were within his office and facing the door to his living quarters.

His office had a few random things lying about the floor and on his desk… one would not have thought that this office belonged to the famous Harry Potter. Either he hadn't planned on a prolonged stay, or had not bothered to impose his personality into the room. Hermione wondered if he'd decorate it with Dark magic detectors like the imposter Moody had done. It seemed like he would do something like that. Then she inwardly scorned herself for thinking this, as though she actually cared about him decorating a stupid room.

McGonagall knocked on the door. "Potter!" she called out. There was no response at all. "See what I mean?"

What was going on? Was he just sleeping in? Or was he in such a wreck that he simply could not answer the door? A chilling thought coursed through Hermione as she remembered what Luna had told her back in the Three Broomsticks.

"Harry!" Hermione said, slamming on the door with her fist so hard that it caused a lot of pain. But she didn't care at this point. "Harry, for crying out loud, answer the door, you insufferable jerk!" Her fists pounded on the door over and over again and she was close to tears. Her frustration was pouring out into this stupid, defenseless door. Harry would not answer. No matter what she did, he wouldn't answer. And there was no use in trying to figure out the password, it was probably something ridiculous that nobody would guess… that _was _the point of passwords in the first place, was it not?

"Harry, it's me," she cried weakly, "it's Hermione."

Then suddenly the door opened and her heart raced. Her hands were shaking. Behind her, McGonagall gasped.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione couldn't help but say as tears were brought to her eyes. Her name was the password. Her name was that ridiculous password that nobody would guess…. Oh God, Harry, that insufferable jerk. Would she ever stop falling for this man?

His living quarters certainly had more of his personality than his office had: it was a bloody mess, to be frank. Clearly he hadn't bothered to clean up after himself. Typical. There was a distinct smell of alcohol in the air, and her racing heart dropped to her feet. Perhaps the alcohol represented him more than the messiness at this point. Had he been distraught from their confrontation more than she had been? It seemed highly unlikely. She'd literally run out of tears long into the morning….

Hermione saw him. He was crumpled on the floor next to his own vomit with an empty glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. He was still wearing the same clothes that he wore the day before. Harry's glasses were lopsided on the bridge of his nose. His chest rose and fell with his steady breathing. He looked childish, despite holding alcohol in his hand. Harry looking at peace like this was odd.

"Oh Lord – Oh God, I didn't know it was like this, Oh God –" McGonagall whispered from behind her.

"Harry, wake up, you useless lump," Hermione choked out impatiently. She nudged his leg with her foot. "Harry! Christ, get up!"

She just wanted this over and done with. She wanted to leave this room forever and erase this scene from her mind, although she highly doubted that this heartbreaking image would leave her memory any time soon. Hermione felt a chill creep up her spine and give her goose bumps just by looking at him in this state. She waved her wand with a shaky hand and the mess beside him was instantly gone. But it didn't make him look much better. His lips were moving silently and his cheeks were flushed. His eyebrows pulled together. Hermione had seen this look on his face before when he was sleeping, and while she was sure that there was no longer pain in his scar, she was still aware of the signs when he was being disturbed in his sleep.

How long had he been like this? She knew, according to Luna, that this was not a habit. This was just a side effect of what he was going through, then. It killed her. Hermione hadn't known… she didn't know he was like this. It was a reflection of what she'd done to him. _She _did this. Hermione may as well have put the glasses of Firewhiskey to his lips. She was tearing him apart by leaving him.

No, Harry was not a drunk – Thank Merlin for that, she thought – but who knew what would happen in a few more years? Hermione felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked quickly. Harry was her one weakness; he always would be.

"I didn't know that it was this bad – I mean, I knew something was wrong when I hired him, but this… this is beyond what I imagined. He can't teach children in this state…." McGonagall said breathlessly behind her.

"I know he can't," Hermione said angrily.

She was mad at him for giving up like this, for numbing his pain and not manning up. She was angry at the world for letting this happen. Then she turned to Harry.

"Oi, get up!" Hermione shouted this time, actually kicking his limp leg.

He needed to get his act together. It hurt her to see him like this. It seemed like something from an alternate universe… surely this wasn't the Harry she'd grown up with, the man she'd fallen in love with?

"Wha –?" Harry said in a groggy voice, opening his eyes and rolling onto his back. "What's – what time is it?"

"Let's just say it's late. You missed your first lesson of the day," Hermione scolded sharply.

She gingerly knelt down beside him. Harry turned to look at her and his eyes widened. He grabbed the side of his head.

"Hermione?" he said in a disbelieving voice. "What the – what are you doing here?" He sat up.

Hermione pulled the empty glass away from his shaking hand. "McGonagall asked me to help you get your act together."

"Sorry." His voice was a low and rough, and Hermione wanted to shout at him again for how awful he looked.

"You're a coward," Hermione spat. She leaned forward and straightened out his glasses. The tips of her fingers grazed the skin of his forehead and Harry squinted.

There was a long and painful silence during which Harry looked down at where his vomit had been. He didn't look Hermione in the eye for a few minutes and she wondered if he was going to shout at her for criticizing him.

But instead of looking angry at her, he just quietly said, "I know."

"I'll be in my office," McGonagall whispered to Hermione. Even the Headmistress knew that this was a private moment; however, a part of Hermione wanted to be the one to leave. McGonagall straightened up. "Potter, I have to say that I am beyond disappointed in you. I want to speak to you in my office when you're finished talking with Miss Granger. Miss Granger, will you cover for Potter's class? I daresay he's unfit to teach –"

"Professor!" Hermione said desperately. "I – I don't have any lessons planned, I –"

"It will be added to your pay," McGonagall said lowly. "All of the other teachers have classes then, there's nobody else."

"But –" Hermione began.

"I can teach!" Harry said proudly. "I'm not drunk!"

"No, you're hung over. Seventh years will be able to tell, and they'll send letters to their parents. We can't have that." McGonagall turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger," she said. She sounded sorry. She then turned to Harry and said, "I will be questioning whether or not you'll continue to teach here, Potter. I can't have any of my teachers passing out and missing classes."

Her voice was harsh and left Harry looking extremely guilty long after she'd left and slammed the door shut behind her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry mumbled to the floor. He winced. "Won't happen again –"

"I never want to see you with another glass of Firewhiskey ever again, Harry James Potter," Hermione scolded. Her voice was shaking. "I mean it. Look at you, you're pathetic."

"Hermione –"

"Luna told me that you got like this once in a while, but I didn't want to believe it…." she explained, cutting him off. Hermione had a hard look in his eyes that was surely burning Harry to the core right about now. "Harry, do you realize that you have a godson? What kind of godfather are you?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I –"

Hermione continued, breathing stiffly through her nose, "Sirius used to smell like alcohol all the time, do you remember that? And don't pretend that it didn't bother you."

Harry finally looked up at her. She thought that he'd tell her that she'd gone too far, that she had no right to talk about Sirius. But instead there was a sad look in his eyes that made her wish that he'd yelled at her instead. Then he sat up and grabbed chunks of his hair as though he wanted to pull the strands from his scalp. His knuckles turned white and she could see _I must not tell lies _inscribed permanently on the back of his hand in his own handwriting. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of what brought on that torture.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he muttered in a near whisper. "It just… hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Everything," he complained lowly. His eyebrows furrowed together as though a very disturbing thought was haunting him at that very moment. A disturbing thought was haunting Hermione as well. "Everyone left me…. Ron, Luna, Andromeda, and Teddy are the only people who give a shit about me."

Hermione shivered at hearing her ex's name aloud. She remained silent; she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Harry curled into a fetal position. Did he really think that Hermione didn't care about him? Hermione cared about him too much; that was part of what made her leave. She could not bear to be in his life if she couldn't have him and to know how much he had hurt her.

"I'm alone," he continued softly. "You and Ginny were right to leave me, though, you know. I don't deserve either of you… especially you, Hermione. I don't know how you could've put up with me for all those years. I mean, just look at me." He gestured to himself. "Look at what I've turned into. I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being."

Hermione looked down at her knees and nervously bit her bottom lip. She sat down beside him. She gently pushed a lock of hair away from his face, and sad, bright green eyes stared at her.

"You may be pathetic right now, Harry, but you're not a pathetic _excuse _for a human being –"

"I _am _a pathetic excuse for a human being!" he shouted. His hands balled into fists. "Ever since you left I've been a mess, and I'm just wasting away…. I – I spend my nights drinking until Ron comes in and calls me pathetic, just like you did, but I always go back weeks later…. Because I'm always thinking about you, Hermione, and it _hurts _because I know that you'll never really come back, maybe we'll be on civil terms if I'm lucky, but we'll never have what we had before –"

"You're not thinking clearly," Hermione stammered. "You've been drinking."

"I haven't been drinking… I've just been making all of this crazy shit come to an end," he said proudly, grabbing more chunks of his hair impatiently and slowly rocking back and forth. His eyes were wide and unfocused. His voice lowered and he said, "After our, er, conversation, I ran off last night and went to the Three Broomsticks and got some extra glasses of Firewhiskey and just passed out right here…. I dream about it you all the time… I always relive your departure…."

"Harry, please," she begged breathlessly. She did not want to hear his recollections of how he had suffered, he was being cowardly about it all and he needed to stop…. Hermione had suffered more; her heart was crumbled into a million pieces. But still she could not truly find it in her heart to call him a coward. Harry was falling apart and it was partially because of her. "Stop talking. You – you need rest. I should get you to the Hospital Wing."

"I don't need the Hospital Wing." He shook his head and ruffled his hair. She loved when he did that. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

Always the noble one.

"God, Harry," Hermione said with a sigh. She stared at him and then leaned against the wall behind Harry. Her eyes were closing of their own accord; she'd barely gotten any sleep the night before. "You've changed so much."

"In a bad way?" he asked childishly, even though they both knew the answer.

She hesitated and Harry stared at the floor again. He began to pick at loose threads in the carpet as though this was more interesting than any word she'd ever utter. Hermione was reminded of the malnourished, naïve eleven-year-old boy she met on the Hogwarts Express. There was a painful look on his face as he anticipated her response. Hermione had seen that look on his face too many times in his life.

"Yes," she whispered.

"You're different, too, you know," he retorted quietly. Harry looked back up at her and followed her lead, leaning on the wall as well but keeping several feet between them, but it looked like it pained him to keep this distance. He bit his bottom lip and rubbed the back of his neck. He dropped his gaze. "You're not the Hermione that I became friends with."

"_Am _I different? Well, I certainly look the same… I still look like the Hermione you became friends with, you know, the insufferable know-it-all and nagging bookworm." She pointed to her striped sweater and plain skirt that fell to her knees. "I'm not changing who I am for anyone."

"I didn't want you to change –"

"I guess I act differently, though," Hermione observed casually as though talking about the weather. She was surprised at her own ability to remain calm in this situation, next to a Harry who was hung over and sitting in his living quarters. "I'm a little more cold to people sometimes… less willing to trust others… I mean, I haven't even been with a man since Ron, and Luna's my only friend…. But seeing as how the people who I trusted treated me, you can't blame me, can you?"

"Hermione –"

"No, Harry," she spat shakily. She was desperate to change the subject. "And – and why did you password protect your living quarters, anyway? McGonagall was nearly about to have a heart attack. You might even get fired now. Who do you think is going to go after you?"

"Nobody in particular. I just like taking precautions…" he said. Hermione, surprisingly, could sympathize with this. She also sometimes was a little nervous about things. Maybe she'd add an extra locking charm on her door, or double-check everything before she went to bed. Sometimes she'd just lie awake in her bed, listening out for noises like she did in that tent over six years ago. "I guess you figured out the password, then?"

Tears were stinging in Hermione's eyes. The fact that her name was the password was keeping her here next to him. "Yes. I said 'It's me, Hermione' and the door opened…."

Harry nodded. Somehow he now looked much, much older in this moment, as though he wasn't in his twenties but was a wise, old man curiously watching his surroundings. His eyebrows were furrowed and he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Hermione was only too familiar of what being trapped in one's own mind could do to a person.

She felt a tear slide down her right cheek.

"Why?"

Why not 'Ginny'? Or 'Teddy'? Why 'Hermione'? What made her so bloody special? What made her so important to the tortured man in front of her? Hermione knew that he did not love her, he could never possibly reciprocate the feelings that she had for him.

"I wasn't lying when I said that you meant a lot to me," he said. Harry looked at the wall opposite of him, but it seemed like he was seeing more than just a wall. There was a distant and empty look in his eyes as though he were escaping where they were right now, remembering awful things….

"Harry –"

"You mean so much to me, Hermione. I wish I told you that before you left," he continued. Harry turned around and so that he was facing her. "I'm not very good with words…."

"I know you aren't."

"Then why the _hell _do you expect me to tell you, all the time, how much you mean to me?"

"I never expected you to tell me all the time –" Hermione paused, catching her breath and recovering. She, like Harry, got carried away when she got angry. Her temper was nothing near his, but it could do its damage when it wanted to. The evidence of that damage was right in front of her. "I've said this several times to you before I left, and I'll say it again: I've been used. I'm just some kind of disposable resource – I have feelings, you know, and I think everyone seems to disregard that. I gave up everything for you… the rest of my education, my life, my parents –"

"I never asked you to – to drop everything for me! I never demanded that you fuck up your parents' minds!"

Hermione froze. Being reminded of how her parents were a bit cold to her now was one of the worst feelings in the world. No, Harry didn't ask for her to do that, but she _had _to do it – they knew too much about Harry, because she'd messed up by telling them all about him.

Her parents never really did approve of Harry. Their daughter was running off on life-threatening adventures with him, making her mother send worrying letters all the time during her Hogwarts years and her father be so curious as to why she was best friends with a _teenage boy_. And to him, teenage boys were possibly the root of all evil.

She'd tried to explain, after returning their memories back to normal, that Voldemort's wrath was something beyond what Muggles could possibly understand. But they could still not believe that she'd betray them… not only did she shove them aside, but she gave up her education! She skipped a year of school to "run off" with two teenage boys that couldn't seem to understand that she had feelings. They were disappointed.

"They're – they're alright, aren't they?" Harry asked softly. Clearly he'd seen the look on Hermione's face when he'd touched a nerve. He leaned towards her and she found that she couldn't back away from him. "You were able to reverse the Charm?"

"Their memories are back to normal, yes," she said. She furrowed her brows and looked down at her hands that were resting in her lap. "They're just…." She sighed. "They're different now. We don't get along like we used to. They were disappointed in me that I'd give up everything to help you."

"I'm so sorry, Hermione… but, really, I wish you hadn't modified their memories," Harry told her. He shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that. I never asked you to do it."

"It needed to be done," she said stiffly. "They knew too much about you. I could never shut up about you, really…." Hermione almost smiled. "They were in danger and I needed to protect them. I would've done anything to help you… and I did."

"I know you did, and I owe you so much. I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for you. You've saved my ass a million times..." He paused. "Maybe I could talk to them?" Harry offered.

"No!" she shrieked. She let out a breath. "I mean… no, thank you," she said, recovering and speak more calmly this time. "That would only make it worse. Frankly, they hate you. You talking to them will do nothing."

Harry hung his head with a guilty look on his face.

It seemed unreal to be talking to Harry after three years of constantly avoiding him. But this conversation was sucking the poison right out of her soul; this peace was replacing a fraction of the hurt and anger that had been bottling up inside of her.

Hermione would start to actually sob if she stayed here. She could not longer bear it. She didn't _want _to be friends with Harry, she wanted to mean more to him, she wanted him to love her… but he didn't…. And instead of demanding him to love her as so much more than a friend, she left. At the time she thought it was for the best, but she could see now that it just tore everything apart. All of this was becoming less of Harry's fault and more of hers… for the brightest witch of her age, Hermione felt incredibly stupid….

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said desperately. "I don't know how many times you want me to say it. I'm _sorry _for making you feel like you were the third wheel. You never should have felt that way, because, well, you mean the world to me, Hermione."

"As a friend?" she asked in a choked off voice. She closed her eyes.

"Of course as a friend, Hermione. I want us to be friends again –"

"I have to go," she said suddenly, getting to her feet.

"Wha –? What did I say?"

"I don't think that we should be friends," Hermione whispered.

"Can't we talk this out? Look, please, Hermione, I don't know what I said that's making you leave, but I'm sorry –"

"It's not you," she said, close to tears at this point. "Or at least, not this time. It's me. I'm the one causing this. I don't know why you don't hate me right now. I'm so stupid…."

"I could never hate you!" Harry exclaimed, bemused. "And you're not stupid, Hermione, you're the smartest person I know!"

"Look, it's like I said, it's not you," she told him stiffly. "I'm sorry for hexing you that one time. You caught me by surprise. I didn't mean it. Honest."

"That's alright."

"I should be going now. I need to prepare for your next class." Hermione stood up and flattened out her sweater. It felt odd to be talking to Harry so formally. Somehow, it bothered her more than not talking to him at all. "Remember what I said before. I don't want to see another glass of Firewhiskey in your hands."

She stepped over a mound of unwashed clothes and approached the door.

"Hermione –"

"You know where to find me," she said to her broken, old friend.

Hermione didn't need to add "if you're in trouble" or "if you need some help", because it didn't need to be said. That was something that she and Harry had always had: a wordless connection. She knew that Harry understood what she meant in those six words. He needed to know that she _did _care about him. To imagine Harry thinking that she hated him was unbearable. But she deserved it. Whatever bitterness he felt towards her, she definitely deserved it.

He looked at her with a surprised look on his face. Surprised that she was holding out a hand. Surprised that she cared, that if he needed her, she'd be there and he knew where to find her. He was speechless.

"Good bye, Harry," she said quietly. Hermione stepped through the doorway and closed the door softly behind her.


	6. The Game

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Sorry about the late update, I was losing inspiration to write, but I took a stab at writing this chapter and hopefully it doesn't totally suck. Thank you to dirtylaundry022 for looking the chapter over for me :) Junior year is a horcrux; it has a huge piece of my soul right now. So my updating schedule should be interesting. I am not giving up this story, though, so don't worry. Oh and by the way, thank you so much for the 100+ reviews within just five chapters! I think that's the quickiest that I've reached 100+ reviews for a story and I am extremely grateful for it. I love reading all of your reviews :D

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The Librarian

_Chapter Six: The Game_

Harry stepped out of McGonagall's office, feeling a sense of dread overwhelming him. He had just escaped being fired, but it did not make him feel any better. He had not only listened to Hermione ridiculing him, but he'd just left a shouting match in the Headmistress's office. Although he was sure that Hermione's sincere look of disappointment was far worse to witness than McGonagall's rising temper.

For Harry had always valued Hermione's opinion, especially an opinion of _him_. It had taken his embarrassment at not becoming a prefect –_"I knew it, Harry! Me, too!"_– to fully realize this… Hermione had thought he was a prefect and had become excited at the thought of it, only to find out that Ron had beaten Harry that time and, frankly, surprised everyone.

And now, the stakes were higher. Hermione had walked into the mess that she had a part in creating. But no matter who was to blame, Harry had still been a wreck, and she had witnessed the darkest side of his being. He never wanted her to see that… the symptoms of his depression were something private, something Hermione was never supposed to see. It somehow made him feel childishly embarrassed, to know that she'd seen him like that.

He walked back to his classroom, intending on cleaning up whatever mess the students had made after a practical lesson. Harry hesitated at the door, wondering if Hermione was still there or if she'd fled the moment that the class had ended. He gently opened the door and saw that the classroom was in perfect order, no doubt put in place by Hermione, who was waving her wand at a nearby portrait, straightening it out. At the sound of the door opening she whipped her head around and pointed her wand at the doorway.

"Oh," she said plainly when she saw him. She lowered her wand.

"Er, hello," Harry said shyly, stepping into the classroom. The door shut behind him. "I came back to clean up, but I see that you've –"

"—already done it," she finished for him, sighing. "I needed a distraction," she added, flicking her wand towards a desk and evening it out.

Harry understood. He found that he was normally at his happiest – which wasn't necessarily a very happy state – when he was busy. Being alone doing absolutely nothing was always the state he was in when he began to drink.

"Thanks," he said. And he meant it. He appreciated every little thing that Hermione did. "Er, so, how was the class?"

She dropped her wand to her side and looked over at him with a critical, Hermione-ish expression on her face. He could see the gears in her mind working, wondering just how to word whatever she was going to say.

"Oh, they were alright," she said stiffly.

"Hermione," he said sharply. Even now he knew the way she spoke, the stiffness and high-pitched tone that her voice adopted, when she was lying to him. She was hiding something.

A sigh escaped between her pink lips. "They asked a few personal questions," she admitted, "about us. I mean, I got them to stop after a couple of minutes –"

Harry balled his hands into fists. "I'll talk to them about that," he promised her at once. "Seventh years seem to think that they can do whatever they want because they're of age and it's their last year here." He paused. "It's really out of control. During my first lesson this year, a girl was talking about you, too."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. She averted her eyes away from him.

"I took off House points and told her that if she talked about you again, that I'd give her a detention."

Hermione looked up at him and her big eyes widened. She had really pretty eyes. Harry wondered if he should've told her that to cheer her up, or if she'd think he was lying.

"Well, thank you," she said politely. Her hair was down and bushy, the way it usually was when they had attended Hogwarts. Harry liked it that way better. It reminded him of the young girl he'd befriended in his first year.

"So, I guess McGonagall's letting you keep your job?" she continued. She didn't sound upset about this. In fact, there was a small dose of hope mixed into her gentle tone, which surprised him.

"Yeah. She mentioned that the fact that Andromeda doesn't have a job and I'm the one to provide financial aid for Teddy," Harry said in a pained voice. He nervously ran a hand through his messy hair. His head hurt like hell. "I'm sure that's the only reason I'm still here. I won't fuck up again, I promise."

"You better not," Hermione agreed darkly.

Harry put his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for showing up and getting some sense into me," he told her.

Her reminding him of Teddy and how he had to take care of him had certainly touched a nerve. Harry couldn't go on like this.

Hermione was possibly the only person in the world who could bring him back to his senses. He remembered countless times in their Hogwarts years when he'd thought he'd lost complete control, felt numb, or otherwise was unaware of what was going on, and Hermione would grab his arm or whisper something and he'd come back to reality and know what needed to be done. This was something that not even Ron could do. Hermione had a gift when it came to helping him. And without that one constant in his life for the past three years, he'd been a wreck.

"It's my fault for you being insensible in the first place," Hermione muttered. "But you're welcome."

Harry stared at her. He wondered if she felt guilty for what happened especially after he yelled at her for "fucking up her parents' minds", as he'd put it. He really regretted saying it like that. No matter how much he and Hermione could relate to each other, he'd never know what it was like to have parents. But Hermione knew. And he took that away from her, he took away whatever bond she had with her parents. He remembered the look on her face when she told him that her relationship with her parents was not like it used to be; she had looked crestfallen and defeated, with her raw emotions out in the open for him to painfully witness.

Both of them were broken.

He wondered what the fuck they were playing at, pretending like they didn't care about each other.

Was this a fucking _game_? Just tiptoeing around each other and acting as though they didn't love each other? He didn't want this to be a game… all he knew was that he loved this woman; she was the first person whom he really truly loved. Maybe at this point, she was the only person in the world – besides Teddy – that he loved so much that nothing could possibly stop him from loving her. Dammit, she taught him what love _was_. He wasn't sure if this was really a friendly love… who loved someone as much as he loved Hermione, reacted the way he did when she left, and still categorized it as _friendly love_? It was simple: she was his other half. He wanted her in his life so badly that it hurt. To act like they didn't love each other was bullshit. They were more mature than this. They were smarter than this, or at least, Hermione was.

Sure, he owed her a lot, he needed to repair the damage he'd done, but to act like he didn't care about her would be ridiculous. He'd always cared about Hermione. And he knew that she was aware of it. But how much he cared, she was completely clueless. Harry needed to prove to Hermione that she really meant more to him than she thought. He owed her at least that, after all she'd done for him in his life.

"How is Teddy?" Hermione continued, breaking him from his thoughts and dragging him back to reality.

"Oh, he's good," Harry said. He actually felt happy for the first time that day, talking about his godson.

"You still watch him on the weekends?"

She remembered.

"Yeah, and sometimes during the week when Andromeda's not up to it," Harry said. They both knew how she got sometimes, during long grieving periods.

Hermione nodded. "I've been visiting, too, you know," she said defiantly, as though he was going to challenge her and accuse her of not stopping by to see Teddy. "I just haven't seen him in a while. How has he been?"

"Well…" Harry paused and shoved his hands nervously into his pockets, formulating how to work out an answer. It was painful to know that he had to pause before talking to Hermione… he wanted to freely speak to her, to just say whatever was on his mind without over thinking things. "One of his friends, John, hangs out with him at the park, and his parents come along, too… and Teddy asked why _he _doesn't have parents."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said gently. He always loved the way she said that. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth," Harry said. "Obviously I toned it down, but I think he should know that his parents are gone because they fought for him to be safe."

Harry did not want Teddy to be shut away from the truth. Harry himself had been closed off from the truth for eleven years and to imagine another child, especially his godson, going through something like that was heartbreaking.

He thought that Hermione was going to tell him that he shouldn't have been so direct to a six-year-old, but she just nodded and looked, somehow, impressed.

"He and I are going to Hogsmeade on Saturday. It's a routine of ours," Harry added slowly, a plan developing in the back of his brain without permission.

"Oh?"

Harry paused. Would he even go for it? Or would the conversation end here?

"Would you – would you like to join us?"

The moment the words escaped his lips, he regretted saying it. Of course she would reject his offer. She was the one who stepped out in the first place, after all.

Hermione stared at him for a moment and then, suddenly, her face broke out into a smile and his world fell into place for a moment. He hadn't really seen her smile in years. It was breathtaking and such a huge relief, that he could make her smile. Not all hope was lost. He could fix this.

"Alright," she said simply.

His heart raced. He wouldn't mess this up. He, Hermione, and Teddy would all be together… just like how it was three years ago. How it was supposed to be all this time. They could be happy again.

"Really?"

"Yes," she said. "It would be good to…" She paused. "To catch up."

"Yeah," he said breathlessly and stupidly, "yeah, that would be great."

There was a small pause in which Hermione just stood there, tying his world back together, and Harry's heart was ready to pound out of his chest from nerves and excitement.

"So… you've been alright?" Hermione asked cautiously. There was an expression of concern etching her pretty features. "I mean, after we talked?"

He nodded. "Yeah… you made me realize that I can't keep doing this; that I can't just... I can't just drink away my problems and hope that it will help, because it won't."

Hermione gave him a small nod of approval, although he could still see the guilt on her face. Perhaps someone who didn't know Hermione the way he did wouldn't pick up on it, but he could see how she felt. No matter how many years would separate them – if Hermione had left for ten instead of three – he still would have been able to tell that around him, she wore her expressions on her sleeve. After countless nights of trying to decipher Ron's motionless expressions and Andromeda's moments of silence, it was a relief to see a familiar face and know what the brain behind that face was thinking.

If Hermione could tell what he was feeling right now – which she probably could – she would probably be just as confused as him. A mix of emotions was rushing through him like wildfire, drenching his entire being in guilt and excitement and anticipation.

"You know," Hermione said quietly, in that gentle voice that he'd been dying to hear, that he'd dreamt about for three years, "I never knew about how… how upset you were. Nobody told me. I didn't know. But honestly, Harry, if I knew what was going on, if I knew what I'd done to you, I would have been right there and helped you to begin to put things back together." She looked up at him with her doe-like eyes. "You know that, right?" There was desperation clinging onto her soft voice, desperation he'd heard before, when they were in dangerous situations or when she was extremely concerned about him and his mental well-being.

Hermione stared down at the floor, looking embarrassed. A tear fell down her rosy cheek, succumbing to gravity and showing Harry that, no matter what, she still loved hid and she really would have gone right to him if she knew what was going on.

In that moment Harry knew that Hermione _did _care. She really, truly cared about him on a level that he was unable to see before. Those few words that she had just spoken were changing his opinion. He knew that Hermione cared – at least, before she left him – but now, he understood to the extent that her love went just for him. Why she left, he did not know, and one day, he knew that she would tell him. But for now, he was just happy to be aware that Hermione _cared_. She'd kicked him in is living quarters and threatened him, and told him that he had a godson to take care of, and it was all because she cared. Someone who hated him would not have done that… they would not have taken those measures to ensure that he'd stop drinking.

"I know," Harry whispered.

Hermione looked up at him. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot. "Then I'll meet you in Hogsmeade on Saturday?" she asked for confirmation.

Whenever she seemed overly emotion, she left. It happened this morning as well. What was he doing? What the hell did he say this time to make her leave so quickly?

"Y-Yeah," he said. "We can meet by Zonko's at noon, Ted loves that shop. I mean, if that's okay with you?"

"That's alright with me," she said. "I can't wait to see Teddy again."

Harry felt disappointed that Hermione was more excited to see a six-year-old than him, but he deserved it. He needed to show Hermione how much he appreciated her in order for her to appreciate him.

"Good-bye, Harry," Hermione said swiftly. She made a movement as though she was going to move towards him, but whatever it was, she was restraining herself from it. He frowned.

"'Bye," he said.

He gave her a small smile, knowing that he was trying to hide how torn apart he was by her leaving so soon, trying to hide himself from the only person in the world that he truly loved. It was pathetic, really.

Hermione turned on her heels, and the bushy hair he loved whipped out of sight, and the lips that had called out for him in times of trouble were not saying a word to him, and the tiny hands that had grasped his arm tightly when she was scared were now grasping for the door.

. . . . .

Hermione Granger walked into Hogsmeade feeling stupid.

Incredibly, undoubtedly, and completely stupid.

It should be known that Harry Potter was the only person who could possibly dumb down Hermione Granger in such a way, without even knowing it.

It wasn't a stupidity of a lack of education – no, she was not being dumbed down to such an extreme. However, when it came to her emotions, she was clueless. All she knew was that she loved Harry and she was ready to make up for leaving him.

Harry was trying. She knew that he was trying so hard to fix this, to make things better. So she could at least reciprocate that. Hermione wasn't even sure what their relationship was now. The image of him after he'd been drinking was engraved in her brain. She wondered if she'd ever forget it… but no, she probably wouldn't. There were many, many awful things during the war that were now stuck in her head and that she had to live with. And Hermione was almost certain that Harry had his own images permanently etched in his broken mind as well.

But Harry's need for her, that look in his eyes when she'd left his living quarters… were friends supposed to act that way? Harry showed that her gone from his life had torn him apart. Would a friend leaving really ever do that much damage to a person?

Or did she actually mean so much more to him than that?

The idea that this was possible, and the thought that she could help him get better, was what made her legs mindlessly take her to Zonko's, where she was supposed to be meeting Harry and Teddy.

The September air bit at her skin. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her body and moved quickly when she saw someone turn around to stare at her with nosy expressions. Perhaps meeting up with Harry in public was the stupidest part of this whole plan, but at this point, why did it matter? If Harry was going to get better, then that was all that mattered to her. She'd take a sober, happy Harry and paparazzi stalking than a drunken Harry and no paparazzi at all any day of the year.

When Hermione stepped into Zonko's, she seemed to have stepped into a new world. Noises and explosions were flaring up around her and she was surrounded by laughter.

"Aunt Hermy-own!" a little boy's voice squealed.

She looked across the shop and saw Teddy – his hair was a light blond today – running towards her, his little legs moving quickly to catch up to her. Hermione bent down and hugged him.

"Hello, Teddy," she said happily, with a genuine smile on her face. "How're you?"

"I'm good," he said, tapping his foot impatiently and looking over at a display case. "Harry said that you'd meet us here but I didn't believe him… but you're here!"

Hermione laughed softly. "I wouldn't miss seeing you for the world," she told him. She ruffled his blond hair, making him giggle.

"Okay, Aunt Hermy-own, I'm gonna go look at some more toys!" he squealed, pulling away from her and running over to the display he'd been staring at.

Well, that was quick.

Hermione restored herself to her full height and saw that Harry was a few feet away from her, smiling. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were bright and his hair was still messy. He looked better… somehow, in the couple of days that had separated them since she'd last seen him, his expression looked more genuine.

"Hey," he said. Someone nearby turned and stared at the two of them then looked away pointedly and whistled.

"Hi," Hermione replied. She felt herself blush. "How've you been?"

"Alright, actually," he said, taking a step towards her and taking her breath away. "Andromeda wants to thank you for getting my act together."

"Well, she's quite welcome," Hermione said in a Hermione-ish voice that she couldn't help but use. She remembered Harry occasionally looking exasperated when she used that voice in their early Hogwarts years, but now it only seemed to make him smile even wider, as though he appreciated the bossy tone she'd adopted.

"And how are you?" Harry asked, still smiling like a dork.

"Alright," Hermione said plainly. She wasn't quite sure how she was feeling at that very moment.

They began to simultaneously walk towards Teddy together without even thinking. A group of kids nearby was huddled around a small box, giggling to themselves. Hermione didn't remember when she and Harry were ever that care-free. Even in their earliest years at Hogwarts, there was always danger lurking.

"I talked to my seventh years yesterday," Harry said. His voice was drowning in anger. "They won't be bothering you anymore, I promise."

Hermione looked up at him and saw that there was a hardened look in his eyes. She remembered that look on his face whenever Malfoy called her a Mudblood, or when Snape made a comment towards her about being a know-it-all. He was being protective of her. She blushed even more.

"Thank you," she said. She didn't really need to be protected from attitude by seventh years, in fact, Hermione felt strong enough that she didn't really need protection at all, but Harry's effort was appreciated all the same.

"It was nothing," Harry said. "You don't deserve that treatment, especially from students."

She smiled shyly at him. Harry looked over at Teddy. She noticed that, quite frequently, Harry was looking at his godson with a nervous look glazing across his eyes, even in the middle of their conversation. His attention was on Hermione but he was still looking out for Teddy and paying attention to his whereabouts.

"Ted, be careful," Harry called out when Teddy was close to a display that was labeled _Ages 10 and up_. "Get away from that."

Teddy looked over and frowned, but still moved away and went onto another displayed item, Harry's eyes still cautiously on him. Hermione felt a great rush of affection for this man. Words couldn't possibly describe how she was feeling that moment, watching him look after Teddy, just like he was supposed to, as the boy's father figure. She remembered how he'd acted around Teddy three years ago, but Ted was still a baby at the time and naturally needed caring after. But now, out in public, where his godson could run around and possibly get lost – or worse – Harry was being extremely cautious and she loved that about him.

"Andromeda usually yells at me for buying stuff for Ted," Harry said, shaking his head and shrugging. "I can't help it, though…."

Hermione could tell that he was taking a stab at normal conversation between them. And she would go along with it this time… she would talk to him. Just talk. Like the way things used to be. If it would help Harry and get him through the rest of his nights as a sober, happy man, than she could do that.

"Because you don't want him to have the childhood you have," Hermione noted. Her heart ached, as it always did, at the thought of what Harry must have gone through underneath the Dursleys' roof. That thought made her love him even more. She was proud of him for standing up straight and watching over Teddy and protecting her and being so goddamn noble. She loved and hated his streak of nobility.

Harry's gaze went to Teddy again. He probably wasn't even consciously watching over him; this was the protective instinct showing that had been running through Harry's veins for as long as Hermione could possibly remember.

"Exactly," Harry replied. "I don't think she understands that I can't have Teddy feel like he's unloved… I just couldn't stand that. He's an orphan, too, and I need him to know that I love him –"

"He knows," Hermione interjected. "He knows that you love him. And no toy in the world could tell him that."

Harry's shoulders relaxed. He always seemed to become calmer when she spoke to him and gave him soothing words of consolation. His tenseness was ebbing away.

"Do you think so?" he asked helplessly, as though he were clinging on to her opinion, like what she thought really, truly mattered to him.

"I know so," Hermione said confidently. "Stepping up and being the father figure in his life is more than enough all on its own."

Harry made one more swift glance at Teddy, and then he turned to look at her. His bright green eyes were more vivid than before, the life within their depths dancing around and inviting her to join him into whatever the future was going to hold for them. Hermione would always be amazed by those eyes, the way they could see right through her and see all of her flaws and all of her perfections, and if she was lucky, right now, he loved her for all of it. She felt herself blush again… oh God, what was she, sixteen?

Ten minutes later, the three of them left Zonko's together. Many gazes whipped in their direction, and gossip was whispered behind gloved hands. Teddy pointed at the Three Broomsticks and said that he was hungry.

Hermione gave Harry a look that said _don't even look at the Firewhiskey_. And she was sure he understood, for he nodded assuringly and opened the door for her.

When they got into a booth, with Harry and Teddy facing Hermione, Harry ordered pumpkin juice as his beverage, for which she was so proud of that she ordered pumpkin juice for herself. Even butterbeer might have made him feel somehow tempted.

The warmth of the room was welcoming, and Hermione wanted to stay in here forever, even if she was getting odd looks at some other customers. Harry took off Ted's coat for him when he saw that sweat was collecting at his hairline. Teddy didn't act as though he'd noticed – as most six-year-olds didn't take notice of those sorts of things – but Harry was still smiling at his godson.

And soon Hermione found that she was even smiling to herself at the sight of the two of them. She leaned forward and rested her chin on her palm, loving these two boys more than anything in the world.

Madam Rosmerta gave them their drinks, all three of them having ordered pumpkin juice, and Harry turned to Hermione.

"Do you want anything else?" he offered, gesturing towards her. It wasn't chauvinistic; it was just a mere question, a small little offering that included putting her first.

She shook her head. Harry didn't order any food either, but Teddy appeared to have ordered the entire menu, at which Madam Rosmerta laughed and then added, "Glad to see all three of you again."

Hermione felt a twinge of embarrassment, but Harry glossed over it by saying, "He's got an appetite," with a small laugh.

And Hermione was finally feeling happy, a feeling that she thought she had lost. She was happy with Harry, and unhappy without him. It was the simplest little concept that made her realize that this was where she belonged. When it came to Ron, she wasn't unhappy without him… it had been, deep down, Harry who she'd been missing, who she'd longed for during three long years. Hermione's heart ached for Harry, and really, that was all that mattered.

Hermione looked back up at him and saw that he'd been staring at her with those vivid green eyes. He didn't look away; he just smiled at her as though they were more than just two old friends meeting up again. Because really, they were never just friends… they were a part of each other, and without the other, they were broken and torn apart. Nobody in her life could possibly replace Harry.

Her leaving made the distance between them close completely as well as extend to the opposite ends of the universe.

Harry leaned in towards Teddy and stole a piece of his food, at which his godson mumbled, "I saw that," in a very Hermione-ish voice, and suddenly the three of them were laughing at their small booth in the corner of the room, oblivious to whatever looks they were now receiving.

Hermione saw that, soon after, Harry was back to doing little things like fix Teddy's scarf and ruffle his hair. Harry really had matured… he had to, being a father figure of another human being. It had given him a responsibility that, except for Andromeda, he'd had to shoulder on his own for the past three years. Hermione had made her own visits to Teddy, but she wasn't oblivious to the fact that it just wasn't the same as it used to be.

"I'm going to help, you know," Hermione said, gesturing towards Teddy while he was pretending that his empty food tray was flying through the sky on its own.

Harry's smile extended to his eyes. "I know that you've been helping on your own…" he noted, "but… but it's not the same. I'm so afraid that I'm going to screw this up." He ruffled Ted's hair once more, and his godson took no notice, but Harry, again, still smiled at him, but this time, it was a sad smile. "I – I always wonder if I'll upset him, too…."

By "upset him, too" she knew that he meant "he'll leave me, too". Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes. What had she done to him, to the man she loved? Harry was still staring at his godson and a frown was etching itself upon his face. He looked ten years older than he really was, aged by hurt and heartbreaks. Ginny and Hermione had left him, and it tore Hermione apart to think that he was afraid that Teddy would eventually leave him as well.

"He's not going anywhere," Hermione reassured Harry, reaching her hand out to grab his. His skin was soft and warm and comforting. "And neither am I."


	7. The Trio

**Author's Note:** Okay guys, here's chapter seven. Hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

The Librarian

_Chapter Seven: The Trio_

Harry walked towards Ron's flat, not quite sure what to do.

Perhaps he should have waited to meet up with his best friend again. It had been an interesting weekend and spending his Monday night away from Hogwarts – after a few hours of lesson planning – to confront his friend might have been a mistake.

He wasn't sure how to talk about how he'd stopped drinking without talking about Hermione, and how she came into his living quarters and demanded that he become sober and pull himself back together. He supposed they could talk about Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure how to talk about Hogwarts without talking about Hermione. And from there, he wasn't sure how to talk about Hermione without mentioning how they'd been building their relationship back up. Ron had matured, and Harry had certainly realized that, but he still had his moments where he was completely unapproachable and unreasonable.

But Ron had taken care of Harry and sobered him up and slapped him in the face when it needed to be done. Harry at least owed him the truth.

It was about time he starting owing up. With his hands deep in his pockets and a sigh escaping his lips, Harry approached the door to Ron's flat. A few miles away, lightning struck the earth beneath a cloudy, darkening sky. Harry knocked on the door and felt the tremors of thunder beneath his shoes.

A whispered, "Who is it?" came from the other side of the door.

"Me," Harry said back, standing up straight and seeing another strike of lightning from the corner of his eye.

The door opened slightly and he saw Ron's blue eyes glaring at him, then widening in recognition. Ron then opened the door wide enough for Harry to enter, and then closed it shut when Harry had approached the foyer.

"You're late," Ron said, jokingly punching Harry in the arm.

"Had some lesson plans," Harry said, shrugging.

The truth was that he really loved to teach… it was profession he hadn't really thought about before, but now that he was in the swing of things, this was something that he could consider doing possibly for the rest of his life. Teaching others what he'd never been taught in school himself was relief for him… he taught with a more practical approach than most teachers usually did, but he found that that was the most helpful. The students who loved his lessons but sometimes slacked on homework reminded him of Ron and Hermione, and the students who raised their hand in the air at the sound of any academic question reminded him of Hermione….

"Right… how's that going, by the way?"

"Pretty good," Harry said, throwing his coat onto Ron's couch.

Ron had bought this very flat after Hermione left. His moving out of the Burrow had begun his slow transformation into a more mature human being. Hermione had done all of this and she didn't even realize it. That woman would never truly understand the effect she had on Harry and Ron.

Harry had practically lived in Ron's apartment two and a half years ago; when Ginny left… sometimes he'd wake up in the sitting room to a warm breakfast and a blanket over him, with a pounding headache accompanying it all….

He stared at the couch that now held his coat, and put it on the coat hanger nearby instead.

Ron looked like he was going to say something, but then he closed his mouth and sat across from Harry in the sitting room. His fingers were intertwined and his head was tilted towards one side.

"You don't smell like alcohol," Ron noted after a few silent moments.

He flicked his wand lazily and a fire began within the fireplace beside them. Harry felt a rumble of thunder rolling through the house and heard the steady pitter-pat of the rain on a window.

"I've stopped drinking," Harry said at once.

He had promised Hermione that he wouldn't touch another bottle of firewhiskey. She'd said things and done things in his living quarters that had an effect on Harry… she had reached for Harry and found who he really was, found the boy she'd befriended, and told him – in a few words – that that boy needed to come back. A drinking Harry was not the real Harry. And the real Harry had a godson to take care of. In short, he really needed to get his shit together.

"You've stopped drinking," Ron repeated plainly. His eyebrows were raised and he looked disbelieving.

"Yeah," Harry said. He felt determined to make Ron believe this.

"What the hell are you talking about? 'I've stopped drinking'. Honestly, Harry," Ron said, shaking his head and rubbing his temples.

There had been periods of time where Harry would swear that he was done, but this time around, he was serious.

"No, I mean it!" Harry exclaimed desperately, practically leaping from his seat. A few strands of hair fell into his blazing eyes, and his hands grabbed the arms of the chair. "I'm serious this time. I need to get my shit together."

"What's gotten into you?" Ron asked. He seemed less accusatory and more willing to listen. He leaned in slightly.

For a moment, Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how Ron would react to the fact that Harry and Hermione had met up in Hogsmeade the day before. But then, Harry thought again about how Ron deserved the truth. Harry couldn't hide this, or it would blow up in his face one day.

"It's Hermione," Harry said breathlessly.

There was a short moment during which Ron just stared at Harry with widening blue eyes and his ears turned bright red at the mention of the woman whom had left both of them behind.

"W-What?" Ron stammered. "You've – you've talked to her?"

"Yeah, I have," Harry said. He refrained from smiling. He knew that Ron might have been dying to be in his position and he didn't want to make it worse for his best friend than it had to be.

"And she hasn't hexed you or anything? You're well and everything?"

"Yes," he replied.

"But – h-how?" Ron bit his lip and his skin turned stark white. He was surely going to explore if Harry did not elaborate on his situation with Hermione. "H-How did you two start t-talking again?"

"We met in the hallway by accident at first," Harry said quickly.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What did she say?"

Harry swallowed nervously. "She said that I smelled like alcohol and that I should stop."

"So that's how come you've stopped?" Ron asked curiously, tilting his head, as though shocked that a simple sentence from Hermione could possibly do what he'd been trying to do for three years.

"Well… no," Harry said. "Not that time, at least. I talked to her in the library, I met up with her, and some things were said –"

"What things?"

"Jesus, mate, I'm getting to it…" Harry took a deep breath. "I talked to her in the library later that week… I mean, that's what anyone would do in my situation, right? I couldn't help it; I just needed to talk to her again. And she told me to leave, but that she needed some time to think."

And Harry continued, telling Ron about how he'd drank himself into oblivion for the last time, and then how Hermione had somehow valiantly stormed into his living quarters and Hogwarts and brought him back to reality.

"But – but all she did was just say stuff to you, and you were fine?" Ron questioned.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't like that. It was more than that. She really made me realize that I needed to put my shit together. It's just… she has that effect on people, you know? Hermione has always made me realize things that I couldn't see before."

It felt nice to let this all out, and he was almost certain that Ron could understand what he meant, that he knew Harry wasn't just blabbing about nonsense… Hermione really did have that sort of effect on people. Harry loved that about her.

"So all it took was a nudge from Hermione," Ron said with a distant look in his eyes. He then ruffled his vivid red hair and stared at Harry. "I mean, I just can't believe that – that you two are talking! I always thought that she'd come back, especially since you two both work at Hogwarts, but… blimey, I never thought it would be this way." He paused. "D-Did she mention me?"

Harry almost lied to Ron, but decided that not only did Ron deserve the truth, but also that Hermione did not deserve to be perceived the wrong way.

"No, mate," Harry said with a sigh, "she didn't."

Ron looked only slightly disappointed, as Harry could've guessed that Ron had been expecting that reply but had asked the question as a ray of hope.

"I guess… I guess I wasn't really expecting her to," Ron commented. "It's all her choice, though… if she doesn't want to talk about me….."

Whether or not Hermione wanted to speak to Ron was really up to her. Harry wondered if Ron had been the one drinking, would Hermione run to him and not mention Harry at all. But hadn't she established that if she had to, she'd return to Harry and not Ron?

And since when had this become a bloody contest for Hermione? Perhaps there had been a competition all along, and it was Ron who saw it as one, and therefore, he lost.

Harry never thought of Hermione as some sort of prize, as a token to the man who won her heart. It would be an insult to her existence to imagine her as an object. Ron had often treated her like one, which was most likely why she would go back to Harry instead of him. Hermione meant so much to Harry that he was the one who was lost without her.

Ron was lost, too, but in a different way. He had built himself into a more mature person because of her complaints from him and he'd risen from what she'd done to him. He didn't have someone to snuggle up with, or someone to kiss goodnight to. He didn't have Hermione's laughter and the chance to count the freckles that were spotted across her small nose.

Meanwhile, Harry didn't have a person to run to when he was struggling with the demons of his past, advice when he needed it, an honest opinion when he wanted to hear one, or a grip onto reality. Yes, the kisses on the cheek and her smile and the way she got all exasperated when he didn't grasp was she was saying were always pluses, but that was just secondary to the person that she really was.

And because Harry was the one who saw this, and not Ron, she would go back to him. Hermione loved him, perhaps just as much as he loved her.

And here Harry was, sitting across from her ex, trying to… trying to what? Reason with him? Tell him that maybe Hermione would come back to him?

"When was the last time you saw her?" Ron asked vaguely, lazily picking at threads from the couch he was sitting on.

"Er, yesterday," Harry said, slightly hesitant. "Teddy, Hermione, and I went to Hogsmeade for the afternoon."

"Did you invite her? Or did you just happen to meet her?""

"I invited her," Harry told him. Feeling like he needed to elaborate, he added, "I wanted to fix our relationship and just, you know, spend time with her."

Ron nodded, more to himself than to Harry. There was a distant look in his eyes and Harry wondered what words were going to come out of his mouth next. A small silence followed Harry's own words, and then eventually Ron said, "I thought that maybe, after these three years, that she'd be different…. But clearly, she's not."

Harry stared at him. "She is different, Ron."

"No, she's not," Ron said. "She's choosing you."

"Ron, listen –"

"I've come to terms with it. You know I have," Ron continued, interrupting Harry. "She might have cared about me at one point, but Hermione will never love me the way that she loves you." He stared down at his own hands as though he were a child, wondering what he did wrong. "She even told me that. You know, before she left."

"Look, Ron, she is different," Harry said, trying to keep conversation going in order to distract from the fact that heat was rushing to his cheeks at the words _Hermione will never love me the way that she loves you_…_she even told me that. _"She's less… I don't know… less trusting, I suppose. She just comes off as though she'll shout at the next person who will question her. And I did that to her. It's not just her leaving… it was the war, too. Hermione experienced went through that war with me. I'll never forgive myself for it."

"We're all less trusting," Ron noted. "I have to undo a million security charms just to get into my bloody house! So it's no wonder that she's paranoid."

"If I could go back and go through the war by my own, I would, and you know I would. I never wanted you two to come along…."

The sound of a tortured Hermione was ringing through his ears, and he felt light-headed all of a sudden. Those screams of pain would be stuck with him forever, and he would never _ever _forgive himself, because it was his fault, after all. All of this mess was his fault and he felt so broken beyond repair. How was he supposed to put this all together? He wasn't even sure where to begin.

"But that's where you're mistaken!" Ron exclaimed, getting to his feet and pointing to his own temple. He didn't sound angry; just persistent, as though he needed Harry to drink in his every word and believe it all. "We would always go with you, no matter what. If Hermione went off on an adventure on her own, what would you do? Or if I ran off to find bloody horcruxes myself, what would be your immediate reaction?"

"I would go along with it, or try to convince you to not go," Harry answered automatically; there was no question about it.

"Then stop thinking that we don't love you, you stupid twat," Ron said. "How do you think it feels for her, or for me? To know that you'll never fully understand how much we care? Maybe that's why she left in the first place. Because you just _don't fucking get it_."

Harry got to his feet, too. Sweat was collecting at his brow.

"That's not why she left…" he said desperately."She – she left because she felt underappreciated!"

"But that's what I'm saying!" Ron replied. "She felt like you couldn't possibly understand or appreciate how much she loved you. You have a thick skull, Harry. You'll never get it."

Harry and Ron always threw insults at each other, and most of the time it was blunt honesty for their own good, or just joking around. And this time, it was blunt honesty. Harry wasn't sure if he was ready to believe what Ron said. Even now, Harry couldn't understand how his friends cared about him.

"It was the Dursleys," Harry breathed at once, a sickening realization hitting him hard. "Let's shove you in a cupboard for ten years and see how you much you understand love."

Ron put his hands up in false surrender. "I didn't mean it like that, Harry. You know I didn't. I just meant that you need to open your eyes and realize how much Hermione cares, okay? I mean, be grateful that she loves you, for Christ's sake."

"I never said I wasn't –"

"What happened is in the past. You really should stop this reconstructing-the-past crap and just work on making the future less shitty. You'll go fucking insane if you try to change what's happened."

Harry's hands balled into fists and his breathing was heavy. He sat down slowly, grasping the sides of his chair in desperation to feel a sign of reality. What he needed in that moment was Hermione, to keep him grounded and whisper in his ear and take him back to what was real and show him what was false. Another strike of lightning hit nearby and thunder followed seconds later, shaking the entire flat and sending Harry's anxiety through the rain-covered roof.

Ron sat back down across from him, his blue eyes searching the room curiously as though looking for something that he'd lost a long time ago. Perhaps that thing was Hermione.

Harry took a deep breath and said, "I don't know what to do." He childishly pulled his knees to his chest and grabbed at locks of his dark hair. "I need to know how she feels. She said that she's not leaving me again, but –"

"She said that?" Ron asked.

Harry was sick of his questions, but he nodded. Ron deserved the truth. He knew that if he was in Ron's position, he'd want to know what was going on. It might've killed him inside, but he'd rather be aware than be left in the dark.

"Well, it's simple, then," Ron said quietly. He looked like he was slowly falling apart. There was a frown threatening to form across his lips. "You just have to prove to her that she's not mistaken… that there's a reason she's sticking around. You've got to pull your shit together and deserve her."

Harry bit his bottom lip. His whole body was on the verge of shaking. An anxiety like no other was coursing through him, and his entire forehead was gleaming was sweat, surely.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry demanded.

"Doing what?"

"Acting like you don't care if I build up a relationship with Hermione! I thought you loved her. Like, really loved her."

"I did," Ron said matter-of-factly. "And I kind of still do. But I missed my chance. We both fucked up, but it's clear that she'll always go back to you." Ron paused, and Harry held his breath within the stillness of the room. "Just prove that all of this is going to be worth something, for Christ's sake."

. . .

Harry returned to Hogsmeade from Ron's a half an hour later feeling dazed. He wondered when he could tell Hermione how she had turned Ron into the man that he was now. Granted, Ron still had his flaws, and he would never really get over the fact that Hermione was going back to Harry instead of him, but all in all, she did a lot to change him without even realizing it.

After facing an angry Filch, Harry finally get into Hogwarts itself. It was eerily quiet at this hour as all of the students were – or were supposed to be, anyway – in bed and fast asleep. He put his hands in his pockets and strolled around the corridors for what could have been forever until he reached his destination. And soon enough, it was no wonder that he was whispering, "_Alohomora_" under his breath and grasping for the now unlocked door of the library. There was no Invisibility Cloak with him to protect him this time, but he did not want to hide anymore. He was so sick of hiding.

Hermione was looking up from her desk, her messy hair falling into her big brown eyes. She looked nervous at the sound of the door opening, but now, she looked assured that it was just Harry. She put her wand away and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"Hey," Harry said, leaning against the door way.

"Come in," Hermione said gently, gesturing to the door.

Harry shut it behind him with his wand wordlessly, and then walked up to the desk, taking in her appearance. She looked flustered and exhausted. Dark circles shone beneath her eyes and the hair from her bun was falling out in chunks. Harry guessed that she'd been working all day on God knew what. He loved when she looked so Hermione-like; so intent on what she was doing that her appearance did not even matter to her anymore. That in itself already made her so different from other women that he'd known.

"How are you?" Harry asked. His eyes glanced over piles of papers that were decorating her desk. He didn't think that being a librarian really took much of an effort, but clearly he was mistaken… or maybe Hermione was just putting extra effort into her job, which wouldn't have been too surprising and also made him admire her pride.

"Oh, I'm alright," she said breathlessly, fussing about the papers. Her eyebrows pulled together as evidence of her fierce concentration. She organized some papers into a neat pile and shoved it to the very corner of her desk. "I've just been sorting out who owes books and who's returned them by House and year. I'm pretty much done by now, though."

Harry watched as she organized a few scattered papers onto the lowest pile and then shoved that aside as well. With a sigh, she put her hands on her hips and gazed at her handiwork as though daring for a single sheet of paper to fall out of place. Her cheeks were flushed and she bit her lip.

He was almost going to ask why she seemed to have put this all in order the normal, Muggle-way, but he did not think he was in the position to. And besides, he could sympathize with her. He often performed tasks completely without magic just because it was a distraction. If he used magic for every little thing, then he would probably go insane.

"That's a lot of papers," Harry commented with raised eyebrows. "I didn't really think that being a librarian required that much paperwork. You've done a good job at organizing all of this, though, you know."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the piles and looked at him for a few short moments. "Thank you, Harry," she said.

His fingertips lazily grazed the wood of the corner of the desk. "Has anyone given you a problem today?"

Hermione looked back down at the small piles of papers and shook her head. "Nope. I haven't heard a thing."

"Good," Harry said approvingly. He felt his shoulders relax.

There was a short silence between them during which Harry straightened out her little piles. She placed her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her palm, and watched him with a small smile on her face. Hermione looked so peaceful that he just wanted to hug her.

"How've you been?" she asked quietly.

"I've been good," Harry told her. Ron's words were spinning around in his head and Harry wondered how he was supposed to build this future with Hermione. It wasn't going to be simple, that was for sure. "I – I talked to Ron today. Went over to his flat."

"He got a flat on his own?" were the first words out of Hermione's mouth. Her eyes widened.

"Yeah. He's more mature now. Decided to grow up," Harry said.

"Why?"

"Because of you," he told her.

"Because – because of me?" Hermione stammered. Her chin was trembling. "But – but I haven't talked to him in three years, I –"

"You have that type of effect on us," Harry said truthfully, with a shrug. "You don't even realize how important what you say is to people. When you left, he got his shit together." Hermione stared at him, and he paused. "And I – I didn't. I did the opposite."

"Surely not the complete opposite, Harry," Hermione said. "You seemed to do fine with Teddy. He'll be proud to have a godfather like you –"

"I fell apart without you," Harry interrupted desperately. "Ron… Ron will be okay without you. He's heartbroken, mind you, but he'll manage. But me? I'll never forgive myself for what I did, for how I made you feel so underappreciated when we were friends. You promised you won't leave now… I promise to work with you to make the future better for us."

He wanted to include both of them on working together. Both of them had wrongdoings. Both of them were blinded and equally at fault. This wasn't a situation of just Hermione returning after leaving, and it wasn't just Harry drinking through sleepless nights.

Hermione's face collapsed into her hands and it wasn't for a few moments until she finally emerged, tears slowly falling down the sides of her pretty face. She looked tragically beautiful, and Harry wanted to cling onto her and tell her that they could truly make this better.

"I want to make the future better more than anything," she admitted. "I want it so badly…."

"Me, too, Hermione," he told her.

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes and her bottom lip was trembling and she had that look on her face that made his heart break into a million pieces and collect at his bottomless stomach.

"Promise?" she asked in a small, shaky voice. "Promise that we'll make this better? Because I swear, Harry, the moment you break this promise, I'll –"

"I won't break it," Harry told her gently. "I won't. I want this as badly as you do, believe me."

Hermione nodded and wiped her wet eyes. "But first, you know what we have to do," she said. "To have closure, once and for all."

Harry knew what she was going to say before the words came out of her mouth. And he accepted it, too.

"We need to talk. All three of us."


	8. To a New Life

**Author's Note:** It has been such a long time since I've updated, and I'm sorry. I've been really busy with a new job as well as writing a novel (I'm 55K words in so far, wish me luck!) Also, my muse for this story was kind of dying out. I was feeling kind of discouraged for some reason. But I have returned, and I really do want to continue this story.

**Update:** This is the final chapter. It may be continued, perhaps with a sequel, but for now, this is it. Thank you so much for reading! :)

* * *

The Librarian

_Chapter Eight: To a New Life_

"I'm nervous," Hermione said. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It felt familiar, like a welcoming grasp of reality. "Harry, I'm nervous."

Harry squeezed her hand back. "I know," he said. "Everything will be fine."

"But what if it isn't fine?" she asked.

"Hermione."

"Alright, sorry."

They were standing outside of Ron's flat, and Hermione felt as though this was a huge mistake. She didn't know what to say or how to tie this all together. All she knew was that she and Harry really wanted to make a better future and move on, and the only way to do that was to talk to Ron. As much as Hermione wanted to step away from her situation with Ron, he was still involved in this, and according to Harry, he had learned to become more mature. She would never be able to move on completely from this stage in her life without talking to Ron.

But none of this attempt at reassurance actually made her feel any less nervous. She was practically shaking.

"I'll start talking first, okay?" Harry said. "Will that make you feel better?"

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. She knocked on the door to his flat - God, it felt so strange to know that Ron had finally moved out of the Burrow - and silently prayed. She wanted this to work. Hermione didn't love Ron, but she did want to pick up the scraps of what they had had before attraction got in the way. Yes, they had been somewhat attracted to each other, but she had learned that sometimes that just wouldn't be good enough. Cooperation and compassion were needed, and their relationship lacked extremely in both of those departments.

"Who is it?" Ron's unmistakable voice called out from the other side of the door.

"Oh, God," Hermione whispered. "Harry, maybe I'm not ready..."

She had a feeling that this talk would end up being less about all three of them and more about her and Ron. Hermione and Harry had their talks, they had their initial moment for getting things out of the way. And now it was Ron's turn.

"It's me," Harry said firmly. He looked over at her. "Look, I won't force you to do this if you're not comfortable, and here's your window of opportunity to leave now..."

"Prove it," Ron's muffled voice demanded. "What's my Patronus?"

"A Jack Russel terrier. I taught you the Patronus Charm in our fifth year in the DA," Harry answered. He looked back at Hermione. "Are you sure about this?"

"Alright, then," Ron said.

Hermione heard the shuffle of Ron's footsteps from beyond the front door. She felt an undeniable twist of her stomach and felt like she was going to puke.

"Well, I'll need to do this eventually," Hermione said finally.

Harry paused to take another glance at her, making sure that she was serious about this. When he looked like he was satisfied with her confirmation, he added, "Ron, I've got Hermione with me."

Ron's footsteps ceased. Hermione gave Harry's hand another firm squeeze. She knew that nothing horrible could happen when Harry was at her side. He wouldn't let Ron shout at her or insult her or do anything out of hand while she was around. And that simple little thought made her feel much more at ease. Harry was here, and that was the most comforting thought that anyone could ever give her.

"You're fucking joking," Ron said. "You're out of your mind. Are you drunk? Having hallucinations about seeing Hermione again?"

"No, she's here. Open the door and see for yourself," Harry replied, knocking on the door once more.

"You're mental," he said.

The door swung open, and there he was, Hermione's ex standing in the doorway, staring at her with disbelieving eyes. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. One hand rubbed his right eye and continued to stare at her.

"Hermione?" he asked, as though waiting for her reply to see if she was actually real.

"Hi," she said nervously.

Ron's eyes finally broke away from her and drifted down to Harry's and Hermione's intertwined hands. For once, though, he did not make a comment or raise his eyebrows... however his eyes did linger for longer than was probably appropriate.

"This is... this is quite on a short notice," Ron commented.

"Yeah. Sorry about that," Harry said, shrugging. He peered into Ron's flat. "Let us in, won't you? It's not summer anymore."

"What? Oh, right. Yeah. Come in."

Ron stepped aside and gave them more than enough room to enter the foyer. He shut the door behind them and performed a few security charms before turning back to face them.

"Er, how've you been lately, Hermione?"

"I've been alright," she said. "And you?"

"Same," he said with a nod. "I got a flat," he added lamely, pointing to the ceiling.

"I see. It's very nice," Hermione said softly. "That's good of you, you know. Moving into a new place and all."

Ron smiled, looking rather proud of himself to get this sort of recognition for moving out of the Burrow.

Standing next to Ron, Harry put his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat.

"Hermione wanted to see you, Ron," he said lowly. "She wanted all of us to talk and try to settle some things. So, I suppose she's vicariously taking the advice that you gave me, and is trying to make a better future rather than reconstruct the past."

Hermione just nodded silently because she wasn't sure of what else to add to what Harry had said. He'd stated it all perfectly.

"Oh," Ron said. He coughed. "Let's have a seat, then."

The three of them walked over into his small living room. Harry and Hermione sat on one couch while Ron sat on a small sofa. Hermione still couldn't believe that Ron was living on his own. And what was more was that the flat was tidy and pleasing to the eye. There was a small fireplace in the room that was gently spitting up dancing flames. This place was certainly different from Harry's living quarters, which, from her most recent visit there had had a drunken Harry and broken Firewhiskey bottles.

Both setups of these two places were indirectly caused by her, but they couldn't be more opposite: Ron could live without her. Harry could not.

Ron missed her, of course. He would always miss her. But what he was missing was the sweet little kisses and the jokes that he'd tell her and their attraction.

In Harry's case... well, without Hermione, he would miss so much more. To Harry, it was never the cute little things that he'd miss. It was the way she'd comforted him and been there for him, and the way that she showed him that it's possible to love and to be loved. Those things were irreplaceable.

"Harry told me about how you came back to work at Hogwarts, and then you two started talking again," Ron said. He didn't sound bitter. He was just stating a fact.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I had spent a lot of time running away, trying to avoid everyone. I thought that it was for the best. And it was, for a little while. But it got so -"

"Lonely," Ron finished for her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Lonely. I left for many reasons, and you know all of them. And I stick to most of them right now. You did some horrible things to me, Ron, some of them being unforgivable, even to this day."

Ron leaned back in his chair and twisted his hands together. "I thought that this was about moving forward, not lagging on past memories."

"She's getting there," Harry immediately interjected. "Let her speak."

Ron nodded. "Alright. Sorry. Continue, Hermione."

She looked at Harry and said, "Thank you," before moving on. She felt a twinge of anger towards Ron again, and they'd only been in the same room for less than five minutes.

"Anyway," she said, trying to remain calm and collective, "I know that some things, however, _can _be forgiven. And you're not the one completely at fault. I was being stupid by just running off with no clear explanation or notice. I could have at least done you some justice and officially settled things before taking off, to at least give you a peace of mind. I'm sorry for taking off like that. That honestly is not the way I wanted it... I just overreacted and wanted nothing more than to leave. I let my emotions run wild without setting things straight and making a more official good-bye. It wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't fair to Harry. And I'm sorry."

Hermione saw Harry nod and knew that he had already forgiven her. He was so dedicated to moving forward that she knew he would forgive her for something like this. She was so incredibly grateful for that.

Ron nodded, too. "That's alright," he said.

And once he forgave her, Hermione knew what she had to do.

"Harry, could you give us a minute, please?" Hermione asked politely.

Harry didn't look confused or ask any questions. He stood up and said, "Sure." And within a moment, he was out of the room. Hermione watched him leave and kept her eyes on the doorway through which he had left.

"Hermione?" Ron asked gently.

Hermione looked over at Ron. She saw the way that he was looking at her, and it no longer gave her butterflies. This man had insulted her and disrespected her to the point where she hated herself when they were in a relationship.

"Ron, I know that you still have feelings for me," she said bluntly. "I know that after what I've put you through, that they might not be as strong as they were before, but I know that they're still there."

"And you're here to tell me that I have no chance," Ron said, nodding. "I know. I knew that the moment you walked out on me that we were never going to work. Even before then... our relationship was in jeopardy. I had a feeling."

Months before Hermione actually left, the two of them had fought like crazy. They'd stopped being intimate altogether, and any night that they tried to spend together would end up with Ron leaving Hermione's flat or Hermione storming off and not returning for days. Even in this moment, Hermione could not remember the last time she'd truly felt mutual pleasure. Perhaps she had never really felt it at all.

"I did have a crush on you when we were teenagers. I thought you were funny and I knew that you cared about me," Hermione said gently. "But God, Ron, a relationship needs more than just butterflies in people's stomaches and a few fits of laughter. It needs _so_ much more than that. _I_ need so much more than that. You never realized it. I needed someone who would respect me and show me that they love me."

"I did love you," Ron said quietly.

"Ron, please -"

"Did you love me?"

Hermione looked down at her knees. Did she love him, at one point in her life? And if she did, would she tell him? Did Ron even deserve an answer to this sort of question?

"Maybe I did, in the beginning," she said. "But Ron, I don't have those feelings for you anymore. I left mostly because of how you made me feel, and I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted an escape from it all."

"But that didn't mean that you had to _leave_ -"

"No, Ron. You don't understand. You don't know what it's like to feel so unwanted that you just completely leave your entire life behind," Hermione said.

And at the words that she spoke herself, she felt herself tearing up. Unwanted. That was the word that so perfectly fit how she had felt when she left. The person she thought she loved had not given her the proper respect, and the one person who she thought she could feel wanted with had loved someone else.

"I'm sorry," Ron said. "I know that you'll never be able to fully, truly forgive me, but I'm sorry. The moment you left, I knew that it was my fault for letting you go. I had my chance, and I blew it. I tried to make the best of it by making myself become a better person. I've been promoted at work, I've moved out of the Burrow, I've tried to make a name for myself at the Ministry, I'm supporting myself. I'm growing and attempting to at least make some things in my life right."

"And I'm glad that you've straightened things out," Hermione said. "Honestly, as a friend, I can say that I'm very proud of you. I give you a lot of credit for that."

"But I'll never win you back," Ron said sadly. He frowned.

That was the thing: It wasn't about winning. Ron would always see it as that. He'd see Hermione's feelings as a game that he needed to win. And Harry didn't see it that way. He would never see it that way. He truly cared about her, and was broken when she wasn't there. Nobody would be that distraught from someone who they had thought was only a prize.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione said. She took a deep breath. "But I love someone else."

There was a long moment where Ron stared at Hermione, almost daring her to contradict what she had just said. She could see how these words were affecting him, how they sunk into his skin.

"So, you love him?" he asked in a near whisper for confirmation.

Hermione nodded at once. She didn't want to hesitate or worry anymore. She wanted to be open about this. It was about time that everyone was open about how they felt. It would have saved a lot of pain and trouble in the first place.

"Yes, I do," she replied.

Ron looked over at the doorway that Harry had exited through. "Does he know?"

"No."

She, too, looked at that same doorway, and sighed.

"Do you think that he loves you, too?"

Hermione then smiled for the first time that day.

"What do you think?" she asked, tilting her head. She wasn't be sarcastic; she wanted an honest answer.

Ron paused. "After you left, Harry was different. He wasn't just sad, or angry, but he was just different. He didn't have an official alcohol problem; he'd just drink away his sorrows when he thought about you too much once in a while. God, he had changed so much. I never really saw him genuinely smile for two years. He just wasn't the same bloke that he was when you were still around. Harry thought that he was never going to see you again, and that's what really killed him. He told me that he thought that you didn't love him, and that he hated himself for it."

Hermione curled her knees to her chest and hid her face from Ron. Her eyes began to water.

"So, you want my answer? I think that Harry loves you more than he even realizes," Ron said.

She wondered how difficult that was for Ron to say. And she appreciated his answer.

"Thank you," she said. And it wasn't just for his reply. "And thank you, Ron, for taking care of him when I didn't."

. . .

"You guys talked for a long time," Harry said. He opened the door for Hermione and she nodded in thanks before walking through the doorway. "Was everything alright?"

"Yeah, it was fine," Hermione said. She looked up at him and saw him smile when she had reassured him. Ron's description of Harry when she had left was not gone from her mind. She had a lot running through her mind, actually, and it was starting to get confusing, because she knew that she really did love Harry.

Part of her reason for leaving was because she thought that he didn't love her back. But she was willing to believe Ron, and it was very much possible that Harry loved her back.

"Harry?" she asked.

She walked into the small living room of his quarters and took off her jacket. She was wearing a blue dress that Luna had bought her a year ago, with long sleeves and material that flowed past her knees. Even though the garment wasn't revealing at all, Hermione saw the way Harry's eyes were glued to her body for a moment, and she felt heat rush to her cheeks.

"Yeah?" he said, turning to walk into his small kitchen. "Oh, wait, do you want something to drink?"

"Just pumpkin juice will be fine, please," she said.

"Anything for you, darling," Harry said cheerily.

Hermione laughed and felt that familiar rush of heat to her cheeks. What was she, sixteen?

There was a small crash sounding in the kitchen, and Harry screamed, "Oh, damn, there go my bloody leftovers... Right, what were you going to say, Hermione?"

"Er... well, I wanted to talk to you about Ginny, actually."

"Ginny?" Harry asked. "Ginny Weasley?"

"The very same," Hermione said. "What other Ginny do we know of?"

She heard the refrigerator door shut and moments later, Harry was carrying too glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Why do you want to talk about Ginny?" Harry asked, handing over her glass.

Hermione took it and stared at it. "Well, I was talking to Ron today about how I don't have feelings for him anymore," she began, "and I was wondering if you still had feelings for Ginny."

Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice, appearing to be deep in thought.

"I mean," Hermione said quickly, practically stammering over her words, "if you don't want to talk about her, then that's - that's completely fine. Totally fine. I'm - I'm fine with that."

He shook his head. "No, no, that's alright. I don't have feelings for her anymore. She left me to further her career. We had different destinations in life and figured that we just wouldn't fit together."

"Oh," Hermione said. She took a sip of her pumpkin juice. "So that's it, then? You're just over her?"

"Well, I was also too busy missing you after you left," Harry said, shrugging. "I think I just didn't have enough room to miss her, with you being gone." There was that empty look in his eyes again, that look that he always got when he talked about the two years he went through after Hermione had left.

Hermione's stomach dropped.

"Harry, again, I'm so sorry, I -"

"Don't apologize," he said at once, shaking his head. "I was just being stupid. I wish I had told you how much you mean to me, but I guess I didn't realize it until I lost you."

She stared at him, trying to come to grasp with reality. Her heart was racing and her cheeks were flushed.

"I guess that the both of us just can't do well without the other," she said, winking at him.

Hermione then raised her glass and watched as a grin spread across Harry's face. Harry raised his glass, too.

"Here's to a new life," she said, nudging his arm, "where we just can't live without each other."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Hermione. That isn't a new life," he told her. "It's been that way since we've met."


End file.
